


The Curse of the Darkness

by ABeardedGentleman



Category: Castlevania, Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Action, Battle, Conflict, F/M, Gen, Post-Castlevania (Cartoon) Season 3, Psychological Warfare, Romance, Vampires, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABeardedGentleman/pseuds/ABeardedGentleman
Summary: As Hector is thrown into a game of psychological chess with Lenore, Carmilla plans her invasion of Braila.Meanwhile, Isaac mounts an army to take Styria, his morality changing with each conquest.Will Hector be able to turn the tables on his captors and turn into the hero we knew in the games? Or will he accept his place in the council and learn to appreciate the circumstances life has given him?As for Isaac, will his hatred towards humanity grow and spiral him into insanity, or is there hope for the forge master to attain redemption?This is my attempt to keep us all entertained while we wait for Season 4.
Relationships: Carmilla/Hector (Castlevania), Hector/Isaac Laforeze, Hector/Lenore (Castlevania)
Comments: 121
Kudos: 91





	1. Shockwave/King

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Everyone! Big Castlevania fan here so I thought I’d try my hand in writing my first Fan Fiction about one of my favorite dynamics of The Castlevania Series Season 3- Hector, Lenore, and Isaac. This is a work in progress that really tries to flesh out Hector and Lenore’s psyche in a way that’s logical and cohesive, and develop a good story arc for Isaac. I’ve watched their scenes multiple times and really tried to understand the motivations/ thought processes of both characters. I’d say that 60% of this is something I think is within the realm of possibilities for the show, and with their arcs in Curse of Darkness, 20% of nerding out about their dynamic, and 20% of random plot twists I put in there for giggles.
> 
> Let me know what your thoughts are!

_Day 1_

Lenore pulled Hector back on feet and took his hand once more, dragging the shell shocked forge master through the icy corridors of the castle. After a couple minutes of twisting and turning through the dark corridors of the labyrinth, Lenore stopped in front of an 8 foot tall mahogany double door and pushed her tiny, delicate left hand through, revealing a furnished bedroom half the size of the conference room they came from. It was a classic set up. In the center, a king bed stood proudly beside the wooden dresser and desk. The large window to the right displayed the room’s content to the icy mountains of Styria. Through the corner, away from the crowd, stood an inconspicuous corridor that lead to the bathroom. A simple steel chandelier hung from the ceiling, reflecting its cold flames against the marble floor. A red velvet carpet covered most of the floor, a contrast of ivory and blood.

_"You made me into a slave..."_

_"I made you into my pet..."_

Those words were the only thing that rang through Hector’s mind as he was escorted to his new chambers. Time and space seemed disjointed. Velvet and crimson flashed through his eyes as Lenore dragged him through the bedroom. The marble fireplace rest against the opposite of the bed, its fire emitting a sense of false warmth and security. He assumed that this was her room.

“I’m afraid your chambers will take a couple of days to renovate. The mason is a talented man, but we want to make sure you’re given quality”

She explained as she rummaged through the dresser searching for a suitable tunic for Hector to wear. Her movements were graceful, as if she knew its location all along.

Hector stood in silence, still dumbstruck by the chain of events that unfolded. Only now was the room beginning to materialize.

_“_ There!”

She blushed as she took out a black and red tunic from the dresser, similar to the one Isaac wore in Dracula’s court. She couldn’t have known this, but it gave Hector a sense of familiarity. He wondered if Isaac had survived the battle, or had perished defending Dracula. _I should have been there_ he lamented, his face blank as she playfully showed off the shirt’s craftsmanship. Lenore was oblivious of his sentiments, she was too preoccupied with trying to impress him.

“Well I suppose you don’t expect me to dress you too, or do you?” Lenore giggled as Hector failed to register the uniform being thrown at him. Irritation began to creep up on her as she impatiently waited for the man to show some indication of lucidity. 

“I suppose I don’t have a choice anymore, do I?” He finally muttered beneath his breath, loud enough for Lenore to hear him. _What a fucking aristocrat_ she pouted as she crossed her arms.

“Nonsense! These are silk trousers. They’re far more comfortable than the rags you’ve been wearing. Plus they’ll make your walks warmer in case you’d be interested in another one”

“Prepping me to show off to your sisters?” he hissed back. Lenore had finally lost her patience with the forge master. She had hoped that the room, bed, clothes, _anything_ would impress him and make him forget about last night. Instead she received a few snide remarks, and an aloof sense of attitude. She pulled out her last diplomatic trick before she gave up on salvaging the night.

“Again, so dramatic. Keep your tunic if you’d like. But you would like to be warmer, wouldn’t you?” She wore the same smile she had when she had coerced him to go on the walk earlier.

Hector couldn’t argue, these were nice trousers. But he’d been fed poisoned apples from her this entire time. To him, the tunics were another symbol of his domestication. The mere thought of it sent a chill down his spine, a reminder of his failure as Dracula’s trusted advisor, and a slave to the whims of others. Lenore was wrong, Carmilla _had_ tricked him. And now she tricked him too. How foolish was he to even believe her when she said she wanted to be with him? Nobody had ever wanted to, why was she any different? He wasn’t going to let her manipulate him this time. He stood in silent defiance as he glared at the floor.

“Fine. I’ll lay them on the bed in case you change your mind”

Lenore sighed in a defeated tone as she took the trousers from him and laid them on the bed.

“I’m off to do real people things. Be a good boy and wait for me?”

Hector found himself staring at the same crimson eyes that had beguiled him after their first walk, peering into his soul with seemingly innocent affection, temporarily melting the icy mask his face wore. For a moment he was affectionately reminded of the heated passion they shared the night before. His eyes had betrayed him though, for in that exact same moment, Lenore blushed “Thank you” and left the room, leaving Hector alone once more. 

Lenore had to admit, she had enjoyed earning Hector’s affection. While diplomacy was her craft, she felt an attraction to him that was rare for her. His silver hair was a curious facet, but what drew her were the eyes. She always loved the night, and the shade of navy reminded her of the twilight before the darkness. They were her little jewels now, a luxury that separated her from the sisters. But today, he was more of a nuisance than anything. She couldn’t grasp why he’d been so unappreciative. After all, _she saved him._ Did he really think that Carmilla would have given him better treatment? In the past week, when she wasn’t with him or the sisters, she was diligently designing Hector’s house and working tirelessly to make it perfect. While she seemed playful and upbeat, in reality she was exhausted from the sleepless days spent from overseeing the construction of his new residence- and Hector couldn’t even stifle a _thank you_. She wanted Hector to realize, wanted him to realize any one of the hundred sacrifices she put in to make sure this would work. Sacrifices nobody else would have taken. However, doing so would only convince him that this arrangement was even more premeditated than it already was, and she knew this. To her frustration, she’d have to start from square one again. Luckily, he wasn’t going anywhere, and convincing him was never a particularly difficult task. An idea popped up in her mind as she passed the kitchens, the aroma of turkey playfully caressing her nose "I’ll bring him something he can’t resist" she smiled as she walked into the conference chamber. The invasion of Braila was looming, and there was no time to waste.

Hector sat on the bed as more coherent thoughts began to form. His mind was assaulted with a mixture of emotions, all powerful yet contradictory. _Betrayal, affection, hatred, dependence, scorn, understanding_. It was hard to get a grasp. In retrospect, it was obvious this was orchestrated, but what he felt with her was real. He had never slept with a woman before, let alone kissed one. How could his heart have been so monumentally wrong? He knew the answer: vampires. She wouldn’t have cared for him if not for his forge master skills. She wouldn’t have taken the time to walk with him, spend nights talking to him, if he didn’t play some vital role to their plans. Deep down he knew this, but he wanted her to be the person she told him she was.

_~~Several hours later~~_

Hours passed as Hector sat on the bed, letting his emotions crash through him like a series of shock waves. He couldn’t ignore them now. After the storm of emotions began to temper from what seemed to be an eternity, a conclusion finally came to him: _he had to get out of here_. How though? He was bound by a vampire ring in a remote castle. He juggled with a series of ideas until a clear one with a feasible purpose formed in his mind: _I will-_

His train of thought was cut short

Lenore entered the room with a silver platter that attempted to cover an aroma of roast turkey, cheese, and pastries

“I brought some dinner”

She smiled affectionately as a vampire soldier scurried past her to set up a makeshift dinner table in the center of the room, in front of the fire place.

Hector remembered how hungry he was and his attention drifted to the plate. His plan was already set. He knew what he had to do.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

_What could my rule be like?_

Isaac thought as he gazed at the starry sky, his body resting against the stone floor of the tower.

Despite the bloodshed, it was a calm night. The moon had shone her pale light across the deserted streets of the metropolis Isaac had razed.

After a long moment of contemplation, Isaac slowly retreated back to the Wizard’s tower, up the stairs, and into the Study in which the old man’s corpse still lay. Isaac coldly withdrew his dagger and plunged it into the Wizard’s stomach once more. A flash of red illuminated the room and ceased as quickly as it came. What remained was another night creature.

“It’s a shame this one is silent” Isaac thought as he directed it outside the room. He scavenged for signs of a bedroom or a place to sleep- the night was long and fighting was tiring work. He managed to find a bedroom connected to the central study, its oak bed frame riddled with dusk, and the desk crowded with scraps of what seemed to be magical tomes far too removed from Isaac’s experience. “He must have not slept here often” he mused as he inspected the dusty furniture that rot against the stone floors. His close encounter with mental slavery had left his mind exhausted, and his thoughts muddled. He laid on the bed and quickly fell asleep- for he was used to sleeping on more questionable covers.

The morning came quicker than the night ended.

Isaac awoke feeling better than he had the night before. He was worried that the magician’s spell would leave him impaired, and was relieved to find his wits sharper than ever. Isaac retreated to the basement of the tower, where the distance mirror was. On his way, he motioned to a night creature to bring him the philosopher that had entertained him several nights ago- "perhaps his wisdom will be of use to me" Isaac thought as he coolly concentrated the mirror to Styria. He heard small, coordinated footsteps plop against the marble flooring.

“You wished to see me?” The demon inquired

“I do, I am grateful to see that you are still alive”

“As am I, we lost a lot of us the night before. What are these mountains?” The demon asked as he stared at the display of Carmilla’s castle, its icy towers piercing the pale blue sky.

“This is Styria, our next location. It is ruled by a vengeful vampire woman who must be shown justice.”

Isaac explained, his voice displaying a degree of malice that was unusual even for the night creature. His blood boiled as he remembered the battle at Dracula’s castle, the faces of his men as they were slaughtered by the queen’s soldiers. He reflexively tightened his grip on the dagger, compelled to strike the mirror as if doing so would shatter the castle.

“Shall I gather the rest, forge master?”

A note of silence hung in the air, his rage tempered; his thoughts cooled as he began to devise a strategy.

"No. This is no ordinary castle, I wish to proceed with a plan. I need your wisdom to help me create one."

The demon peered back at Isaac in surprise. _A forge master asking me what to do?_

“Me? What could a resurrected philosopher do?”

“Maybe nothing at all. But you are loyal to me, and what is better than wisdom from one with loyalty?”

“Very well, forge master”

Silence filled the air one more, a sense of mutual understanding was met between the man and demon.

“Good. I may not have the army to take Styria now, but we have bodies. How many did you count amongst the ashes?”

"Hundreds. If you could convert them. You may be able to take the castle."

"May be?"

"May be. But you have a city, forge master. You are surrounded by other cities. Many can resist an army, but few can withstand an empire."

It took a minute for Isaac to finally register what the demon was implying.

“They have no misdeeds to atone for.”

Isaac couldn’t believe those words came out of his mouth. For years he had been merciless in punishing humanity for its deeds and mishaps, yet in this crucial moment his defense for it came instinctually. Perhaps the captain’s words made a larger impact on him than he had thought. Or perhaps deep down, he had always wanted to have hope for humanity, always wanted his hatred to be proven wrong. Time and time again it wouldn’t be, but he always found himself subconsciously giving them the benefit of the doubt, before he reactively killed them all.

For the demon, the rashness in Isaac’s voice told him that he was treading on thin ice. He had to structure his next sentence carefully.

“Are they innocent if they failed to help their neighbors? They will be used for a purpose, forge master. Their souls will be used as instruments of justice. Is that not a better use of their lives?”

A decisive moment of contemplation permeated the air. The question was a conflicting one. He was never one to deal death without justice. However, the demon’s logic could not have been argued. He needed to avenge Dracula. He did not have the resources to do so. How likely would it be that he would encounter another city of vengeful humans in Styria? If he teleported to Carmilla tonight and failed, what would become of Dracula’s legacy? He had almost failed last night, and that was with a single wizard. There were four vampire warlords in that castle, and a forge master. The contrasts wrestled within him for what seemed to be ages, until a conclusion materialized in his mind.

“ _I will build an empire.”_


	2. Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and Striga question Lenore's intentions.  
> Meanwhile, Hector finds himself more confused than ever.

“She better not play with him too much, we need the idiot to make us the army”

Carmilla sighed as she and Striga remained in the conference room. For 5 hours they had mapped out the invasion of Braila, counted the troops, and taken inventory of all the resources. But by the time it was over, Carmilla felt ready to take a bath and forget about it all together. _“Why won’t they just fucking do the plan as I state it? None of this is going to be a problem if everybody just listens to me”_ Carmilla kept thinking to herself throughout the hours of lecturing from Morana and Striga. It didn’t help that Lenore was even more detached than ever, throwing in pointless fucking questions like “What was Hector like in Dracula’s court?” or “Can we get some dead animals to bring to Hector?” if Carmilla was human, she would’ve popped a blood vessel from hearing the second one. Despite these moments of having her almost miss her good for nothing piece of shit late husband, by the time the meeting ended, they were all in perfect sync. It’s as if all the chaos and clashes were necessary to make sure the sisters reached the best solution possible. And they loved each other more for it. It was a cycle, really. Each meeting started with a plan, followed with dousing that plan with fire and insults, and finishing with an even better one. Come next day, it would start all over. Her three sisters would probably be the only vampires she felt like she wanted to rip apart one moment and embrace the next.

As for Striga, she hated pointing out the blatant flaws of logic in Carmilla’s ramblings. Not because of confrontation, but because they were so obvious that she felt like she didn’t need to. Striga lived her vampire life as she did her human life- one of reason. She couldn’t sympathize with Carmilla’s flare of emotions and zeal for the unconventional. By the time each meeting was over, Striga felt like she had lost a few brain cells hearing Carmilla’s tantrums. However, somehow the bitch always made it work in the end, and Striga respected that. Deep down Striga even felt a bit envious, for how could Carmilla come up with these crazy but brilliant plans? At the end of the day, Striga never let those feelings get to her. She had her role to play in the quartet, and she knew how valuable that role was.

“Carmilla?” Striga murmured as the queen began walking towards the exit

“ **Oh what, for god’s sake?!** ” Carmilla snapped back. _We've been here for fucking hours._ she felt. If any one of the sisters had a chance of capturing her interest, Striga was the least capable. For all Carmilla knew, she probably wanted to talk about some mundane logistical matters that were outside her realm of expertise. Was it really important enough to extend this meeting towards the break of dawn?

  
Striga paid no mind to Carmilla's attitude. She had a burning question that needed to be answered- a question too important for Lenore to hear.

“If Hector pledged his loyalty to Lenore, and the rings make him loyal to us, wouldn’t he have had to pledge loyalty to us too for the magic to register?”

Carmilla paused. She was caught off guard.

“The rings are linked Striga, Lenore said that.” Carmilla answered. It was a valid question, but one that she did not currently have the brainpower to think it through. She had overworked her remaining brain cells 15 minutes ago when Morana asked about the logistical parameters of maintaining the Carpathian border. 

This was an answer Striga would not accept. She understood that Carmilla was exhausted, ready to call it a day. But the warrior knew that such questions were better asked sooner, rather than later. She had to press a better response from the queen. A simple word of goodwill from the sister who excelled in lies was not enough for her.

“Yes, but even so, how do you know our rings have the same effects as hers? Why was she the only one wearing a ring when he made the pledge?”

An awkward silence filled the room as Carmilla finally registered what Striga was saying. For a good minute she struggled to come up with a decent explanation before blurting “I’m sure Lenore thought of it when she went to the magician.” It was the best that the queen could do.

“Did you put yours on?” Striga questioned Carmilla, disappointed by the lack of urgency the question imposed.

“Yes… Of course. Did you?”

“No.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Good food?”

Lenore offered as she and Hector sat alone together in the makeshift dining table, sampling the lavish assortment of turkey, dairy, and pastries sprawled out in front of them. Lenore had stressed to the chef that tonight's meal had to be perfect. She knew that Hector wasn't in the mood for reconciliation, but wanted to do her best in trying. It was the best she could do given the circumstances.

Hector never ate such hearty meals but today was better a day than any to try. He might as well celebrate the official end of his autonomy.

“Yes.. Thank you. I suppose anything is good when you’re hungry” Hector replied with a hint of bitterness in his voice, his lips resting on the fork. He was determined to show no enjoyment from this dinner, despite how delicious it was. Lenore had manipulated him, enslaved him, beat him. He may as well call himself her slave if he were to enjoyably subject himself to her gestures. These subtle acts of defiance were the best that the disgraced general could do. 

“I take care of my pets. What’s the point of being with me if you can’t enjoy it?” Lenore smiled sweetly at Hector, ignoring the icy undertone of his last sentence. _This is going to be a piece of work_ she realized. She was skilled at reading dissent among people- a product of years perfecting her craft. She had analyzed his facial expressions intently from the moment he saw the turkey to when the food hit his mouth. They ranged from anger to disdain-that was it. She had to either try harder, or find another avenue to loosen the forge master.

"Try the wine!" 

She insisted as she pulled an aged wine bottle from underneath the table. She uncorked it, then poured Hector a glass, implying that she would not take no for an answer.

"Alright..."

He muttered as he began to cautiously sip the wine. He never drank alcohol- he hated the way he felt so dull afterwards. But today was as good of a day as any to try, he had no doubt that this would be far more refined than the potato water he was offered by the villagers.

Lenore didn't show it, but she felt a bit of guilt for resorting to such a tactic to negotiate with Hector. She would have liked to reconcile in a more organic fashion, but her sisters pressed her for more expedited measures, with Morana even suggesting torturing him to forge. The gesture felt justified- the alternatives were far worse for him.

Hector pouted as the first gulp of wine passed through his throat. To his dismay, he had enjoyed the wine more than he would have liked. The aged grape and chocolate undertones played gracefully against his taste buds, eliciting a sensual joy that he seldom experienced. 

From a purely philosophical standpoint, Hector had more enjoyment eating the maggot bread when he first arrived in Styria. To him those meals felt like a choice, a symbol of willpower and perseverance in a time of pain and suffering. There was no Lenore in the picture. What was particularly nightmarish about this particular dinner was that his mind went from wishing he ripped her throat out the first night they met, to being mesmerized by the reflection of the firelight in her eyes. Each passing burst of anger was neutralized by Lenore, her smiles and affection slowly breaking down his stoic demeanor. Hector hated himself for it. He wanted to stick to the plan, wanted to protect the most vulnerable parts of him to her. But at this rate, it seemed like Lenore would ruin it quicker than she had ruined the illusion that she actually cared for him.

“Tell me about your day”

Lenore gleamed, permitting a subtle flush to radiate through her cheeks. She knew he hated such conversations, but was at a standstill. The only alternative was silence.

“Uhm, what?”

Hector blurted, his fork stuck in middair. She enslaved him, locked him in a room for 8 hours, forced him to eat dinner with her and pretend that everything was normal. _Do you really want to fucking know?!_ he glared as his heart rate climbed.

“Your day. I want to know how your day went”

Lenore’s smile never broke, trying her best to play ignorant. If anything, it got wider from seeing Hector try to rack up a response.

He pictured himself gripping the table and flipping it towards the vampire, emptying the contents of the dinner over her pristine dress. She would be in total shock as he lunged out the window and escaped the castle, flying to safety by one of his night creatures. He would then return to his hut on the outskirts of Targoviste permanently, killing any vampire that dare come close to him, friendly or not. However, midst fantasizing, his thumb ran over the ring and logic began to take over. He composed himself and delivered the best response his temper could handle. His barriers were up again.

“It was.. Good. As good as it can be when you’re in a cage.”

“You’re not in a cage, Hector. You have free roam of the castle”

“Just a bigger cage for me to die in.”

The statement came in harsher than either Hector or Lenore had anticipated. He felt the anger rise from his stomach to the back of his throat, bubbling like a volcano. A wave of heat flashed through his face.

“I told you, Hector. I gave you what you really needed. What would have been your alternative? For you to be tortured in the cells? You didn’t even have a pair of shoes before I came to see you”

“The alternative would’ve been my freedom.”

Hector’s internal firewall began to break.

“And such a freedom it was. Freezing to death on a stone floor. No shoes either I may add.”

“You said you wanted to leave with me”

“And I did. But, as I also said, that would be a betrayal of my sisters.”

“I trusted you Lenore.”

Tears began to well up in Hector’s eyes. He couldn’t contain the frustration any longer. He was shocked on how quickly the emotions came, ashamed at his sudden lack of control.

Lenore was silent. After the moment of tension began to ease, she took his hand and rested it gently on hers, caressing his knuckles with the end of her thumb. She wore an expression of sorrow and sympathy, looked at him unflinchingly, and exclaimed “I’m sorry for the miscommunication, Hector. Moving forward, lets promise to be as open to each other as possible that way neither of us gets hurt again, shall we agree?”

Those words were honey to Hector’s ears, but he was too flustered to fully feel the impact of them. He didn’t know what to think, how to feel. His mind was racing with a thousand ideas of how Lenore could hurt him even more. He had been so unsure of himself and his feelings the past few days, but nothing amounted to the uncertainty he felt right now. He wished he was back in his farm, where the only thing that mattered were his pets. They never betrayed him, never gave him the pain and suffering this woman had. As he scrambled to find some footing in his identity, some way of navigating the moment, Lenore said “Stand up, please”

Hector instinctively stood up. Lenore moved close to him, graced her other hand on his cheek, and tenderly wiped a tear off his face as her eyes met his.

“There, that’s better.” she purred.

  
He wasn’t sure who initiated it, but Hector found his lips on Lenore’s, tenderly caressing her as his mind forced itself to push back the pain. The next few moments were a blur for him, his body tuning into autopilot. His silver head of hair found its way on the pillow of the bed, as Lenore saddled him. His heart paced rapidly without his consent, and his arousal burned without him really knowing why. His memory faded to black quickly after the climax. The last thing he remembered was Lenore’s face resting on his chest, breathless. Her tiny hands wrapped around his shoulders as her legs rubbed gently against his.

“Good pet” Lenore thought as she listened to Hector’s heartbeat. She knew the wine would’ve loosened Hector up a bit, but she was pleasantly surprised on how well it worked. She had hoped for a kiss or two from him, but this was beyond her wildest expectations. _“I haven't lost him yet”_ she thought. She couldn’t believe that Hector had spent his whole life without ever realizing how charming, talented, or different he really was. Carmilla had warned her that he was clueless, but even Lenore was shocked to see such potential go to waste. She was excited to see where the next few months, years even, would take them. The thought of it made her giddy with anticipation.

She dreamily played with his hair as she began to doze off to the warmth of his body and the beat of his heart. “So this is what it feels like” she thought as her mind faded to black.

“Good morning, Hector”

Lenore whispered softly, her fangs playfully biting the tips of his ear. He shifted a few inches back from her to regain some form of privacy as he groggily responded “What happened last night?”

“You don’t remember? We agreed to be totally honest with each other and we made love all night. You were amazing, Hector. I never knew you could be so tender and commanding at the same time.”

Hector felt more confused that ever, and struggled to materialize any concrete memories of the ordeal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_I will build an empire_

The words pierced the air with conviction.

Isaac positioned the distance mirror and gazed into it until it landed on a city similar in size to the one they had just conquered. It’s stone walls imposing, but not impossible to invade. It would require no more than 50 demons, Isaac calculated. 

“Gather 50 of the demons”

Isaac ordered the philosopher. Eyes fixated on the mirror.

“Yes, forge master” The demon obeyed and scurried from the marble chambers. Within minutes an assembly line of Isaac’s soldiers entered in the chamber, waiting for Isaac to give the orders.

“Today, we will conquer another city! When we transport there, we shall kill all of the humans, but leave the buildings intact! You!” Isaac pointed at the demon philosopher once more, the demon scurrying towards him before finally stopping.

“You will remain here with the rest of the army. Keep watch of this city, and leave no survivors if one tries to invade”

“Yes. May I ask a question, forge master?”

“You may.”

“What shall we do if for some reason you do not return?”

Isaac was taken aback by this question. Frankly, the thought of perishing did not cross his mind until now. He pondered for a brief moment, his surprised nature noted by the philosopher, before finally commanding.

“If I do not return within 10 days, gather the rest and travel to this city and burn it to the ground. Leave no survivors or remnants that anything existed here.”

Isaac replied coldly, his response creating an aura of gravity and morale to the soldiers.

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Now, to conquer” Isaac concluded as he coldly focused the mirror on the walls of the city, instead of inside the city. He wanted to give the citizens some feeling of fear as his demons destroyed the last bit of security their little minds had. Isaac relished the thought of his army destroying that wall bit by bit, unleashing the gates of hell upon a tainted species.

Isaac transported to the edge of the city.

Isaac landed on the patch of cold dirt with his army, the walls imposing its authoritarian glory on him. “Just another one of humanity’s instruments of fear, soon to be joined with the dirt” Isaac mused. Just as he was about to give the order to attack, he heard what seemed to be hundreds of footsteps behind him. _Not footsteps of his own army._ He turned, and saw a small unit of 100 men on horseback, ready to tear down those stone walls as much as Isaac. They were equipped with poorly crafted iron plate mail, lacking in any sort of uniform or organization. His jaw dropped in surprise. The mountains surrounding the city must have clouded his ability to see the invaders, a number small enough to pass by unnoticed. He now realized that he and demons were sandwiched between a rock and 100 soldiers, ready to be slaughtered if he didn’t act now. _What sort of timing have the gods given me?_ he mused, he was used to dealing with far larger forces. _Their bodies will help me take this city_ he concluded

“Attack the soldiers!” He commanded after a moment of hesitation.

What came next was a blur. Bodies flew past him. In the chaos Isaac attempted to navigate the cluster of men and demons; brutally raising arms in what seemed to be an endless bloodshed. Isaac was not used to fighting with such numbers. He swiftly started taking down as many soldiers as he could, his confidence growing with every conversion. In no time, he concluded, he would convert this army too, adding a valuable asset to his repertoire of demons. As he was slicing away, he heard a whiz and instinctively moved to the left, avoiding a flurry of arrows. Another whiz, and he moved to the right- another close death. He quickly glanced the arena and saw the source of his misery- a group of archers to the far right perimeter. As he began to charge towards the archers, he suddenly felt a piercing pain radiate through his left shoulder- an arrow had just landed. Had he worn armor, it would have been a simple reflection. However, his tunic allowed that arrow to pierce deeply into his thorax. Isaac started to feel weak.  
  


Before he knew it, another arrow had pierced him, this time his right lung. He collapsed on the dirt, gasping for air as he struggled to move an inch further. The last image he remembered was a demon being mauled by 5 men, its cries helpless in the onslaught.

~~ _An unspecified amount of time later~~_

“Momma! He’s waking!” He heard a little girl’s voice scream

“Shhhh! Don’t be too loud, he needs as much rest as he can get” An older, womanlike voice said.

Isaac began to regain his vision and saw that he was laying on what seemed to be a cot. His surroundings- a wooden hut with a kitchen, single bedroom, and what seemed to be a shed?” He could barely make sense of what was going on. His left arm was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, his right arm bruised beyond use.

“Thank heavens you’re alive, we thought you would’ve been a dead one for sure.” An older woman in her 40s exclaimed as she stumbled across the kitchen holding what seemed to be a bowl of porridge. Her chestnut hair and hazel eyes complimented the aging lines on her face, for this woman seemed to have lived a life of experience. Her simple outfit suggested to Isaac that she was village commoner, and that he was in the home of a lower class citizen of the city. Isaac reflexively pulled out his dagger but felt a rush of pain permeate half his body. He was in no position to fight.

“No worries! Not here to harm you. Just some porridge, dear” The lady noticed as she started to approach more slowly. The hand with the bowl stretched out to Isaac.

Isaac cautiously took the bowl from her, then asked

“Who are you?”

“I am Samantha, and the child you just saw is my daughter Susan. You are in Admont, you were among one of the casualties a couple days ago. They found your body during the cleanup and saw that you were alive and not wearing the same uniform as the invaders, so I took you in and tended for you.”

"Invaders? Who were they?" Isaac asked

"I was hoping you'd know. We haven't seen a night creature in ages. As for the soldiers, I reckon they came from one of the mountain Kingdoms- luckily they didn't make it past the walls. Few do. You're safe now."

Isaac did not know what to make of this situation. So it seemed neither his demons nor his opponents survived the battle. He was seriously injured, with no demons, and under the care of a stranger in a foreign village. “How strange” he thought to himself.

Isaac took a sip from the bowl, it warmed his insides as a jolt of energy rushed through his body, his blood sugar rising to normal levels. He began to think more clearly.

“Thank you, but I am afraid I have nothing to give you, so show me the way out and I will make my leave.”

“What?! Nonsense, you’re not going anywhere with those wounds on your body. And I’m not asking for anything either. Drink your porridge. If you want some more, just holler” Samantha stated as she wobbled back to the kitchen. Isaac observed her with curiosity and bewilderment.

“An act of kindness for free? Perhaps I am dreaming” He concluded as he finished his porridge. He sunk back into a slumber, this one voluntary.


	3. An Act of Kindness

It was midday. Isaac awoke to the sound of Susan running around the kitchen, screaming. He reflexively reached for his dagger, again, only to find that familiar pain in his arms, again. He would not be able to fight for quite some time, he figured.

“Oh, don’t mind her! She’s just misbehaving” Samantha yelled to Isaac as she started to chase Susan with a broom. Isaac began to regain his lucidity, and was left perplexed. Why was this woman, who has a family and life of her own, go out of her way to help him? He had no money or belongings on him. Perhaps she knew of his talents and wanted salvation from hell, like the merchant? Isaac mustered all of his strength and stood up, grasping the wall for support. He walked over to Samantha, who had grown tired of chasing Susan and was washing the dishes in a tiny, makeshift stone sink. “Thank you for your hospitality” he spoke solemnly. Samantha continued to wash the dishes, but in a slower, more quiet rhythm, as if she heard the compliment, but was too preoccupied to give it proper notice.

Isaac continued “I do not have anything to give you, but I wish to repay you for your service. I am a forge-“

“Why that’s very kind of you. You don’t need to give me anything. If you’re set on doing something, be a good man and grab some onions for me in the city square. If you need some more rest, I can grab one of the street boys to do it.”

Isaac was taken aback once more, realizing that the only way for him to return his gratitude was to do as she said.

“Of course.”

“Perfect, here’s some coins.” Samantha muttered as she took out her purse and handed Isaac 3 silver coins. She flashed a warm smile to Isaac before promptly resuming her task of washing the dishes and muttering directions to him. Isaac left the hut and proceeded to head towards the market square. He had been accustomed to having glares thrown at him whenever he would be in crowded places. The desert cities were seldom friendly, as everyone was either hostile, or nice for the sake of wanting something from you. Isaac had learned to navigate through this atmosphere through series of false trust and mishaps, and kept a stoic glare imprinted on his face whenever in a crowd of people. However, these crowds felt different. For example, outside of the hut was an open field that lent itself to gatherings of local townsfolk. Be it merchants, criers, or even children, none of them gave Isaac a second glance.

“Interesting, perhaps there will be more trouble when I make it to the square” Isaac thought as he began to weave through the narrow streets of the city. Surprisingly, even with the increased traffic, not a single malicious glare was given. He was not a ghost, he concluded, since they had moved aside for him when the streets got too narrow, and a villager had even muttered an apology after bumping into him. So what was this sorcery? Was this what it felt like to be a villager?

Isaac had finally made it to the market square, an open concrete field littered with a random assortment of grocery carts. To the left stood the produce, the merchants selling only the most basic necessities such as potatoes and leeks, as this was not a Southern town where spices ran galore. To the right stood a conglomeration of meat carts, the smell of salmon and rosemary lingering in the air. To the far center stood a stone monastery, etched in the gothic art style, its spires piercing into the crisp, blue sky. The market was packed with villagers, each bustling around the shopping carts like a swarm of bees in a hive. Isaac made his way left, to the cart selling onions, the merchant an older man with a weathered beard of grey. He had a scholar’s look about him, with a pair of furrowed eyebrows that betrayed his intellectual curiosity.

“Excuse me, I would like to buy as much onions as these coins can afford” Isaac inquired as he approached the merchant.

The merchant gave him a curious look, before finally replying:

“Sure, go and grab yourself 6 onions, good sir.”

“Good sir? Perhaps you speak too soon, for you do not know me.” Isaac spoke with a external display of humor. Deep down, he was serious. The merchant was oblivious to the danger he was in.

“Aye, but what is the harm of calling one a good sir? For to speak the name cost me nothing, yet gives you a brief sense of happiness.” 

“I suppose so, if you believe that name calling is the key to happiness.”

“Simple acts are! Its good business to keep your customers happy. Good business for your wallet, and good business for your soul. You’d be surprised on how hard it is to keep a produce stand running.”

“I have no doubt. Thank you for the onions” Isaac spoke in a tone that implied that he was finished with the conversation.

“Of course. Grab another one while you’re at it- another simple act of kindness for you” the merchant smiled as he gestured towards the basket of onions. His brows beckoning for Isaac's hand to take a plunge.

“Why.. Thank you.” Isaac murmured, awkwardly taking the 7th onion and stuffing it with the rest. He began to walk away from the merchant, turning his attention to the streets he came from.

“Of course! Be sure to come back soon!” The man yelled back before he turned to a middle aged father who brought his son and daughter. As Isaac was further down the square, he glanced back at the stand and saw the merchant make a funny face at the boy, eliciting laughter from the siblings and the father. Isaac turned back and continued to weave his way back to the hut, his mind preoccupied. “What compels a man to be so happy? Is he oblivious to the world around him?” Isaac thought as he returned to Samantha and Susan’s abode. It was sunset, and the darkness began to creep on the rooftops of the houses. As Isaac entered into the kitchen, he saw that the dinner table had been set for 3 people. Samantha was in the middle of cooking what seemed to be meat patties and mashed potatoes, and Susan was in the bedroom drawing on the floor. Samantha paused her cooking and turned around and walked over to Isaac, briskly snagging the onions from him.

“Thank you for getting the onions. Dinner should be ready soon”

“Dinner? I am not hungry.”

“Well, suit yourself, but you haven’t eaten in at least a day.”

“Why are you offering me so much, when I have nothing to give in return?” his tone desperate to understand

“Because I saw you dying out there in the field, and I did not want to see a young man such as yourself lose his life because of war. There are too many that die too young because of war. Most importantly, I made some extra food and the alley cats are getting a little too fat.”

Silence. Isaac pondered the offer and silently chuckled at the last statement. He was starving, actually. It would take some time to think of a plan to return back to his castle, and he needed to regain his strength to do so. Perhaps there would be no harm in staying for dinner, if this woman was insistent on doing so. He had reason to trust her intentions, and did not feel a sense of urgency or danger.

“Thank you. Come to think of it, I am starving. I would like to have dinner.”

“Perfect. I’m finishing it up right now” Samantha stated as she began to load up the plate and call Susan to the table. Susan came running with a smirk on her face, as if she had just done something innocently mischievous, as most children do. Together, they all sat on the small oak table in the middle of the kitchen, barely large enough to fit all three of them. It was night time now, and the only illumination came from an assortment of candles randomly dispersed on the counter tops and tables. The food was simple- meat, lettuce, onions, and potatoes. However, it filled Isaac up far more than any meal in recent memory. As the awkward silence began to ease, Samantha asked, with a spoonful of lettuce in her mouth.

“So, Isaac, what brought you to Admont?”

A palpable tension filled the air. Isaac pondered the different ways he could word his answer, before finally uttering.

“I am a forgemaster. I am able to summon demons from the gates of hell”

 _“This was it”_ Isaac thought. This was when he’d have to unsheathe his blade and kill Samantha and Susan. It was a pity, since they had only shown him kindness. But usually people became hostile once they learned of Isaac’s true identity. He had slowly regained his strength from the food, and was ready to pounce the moment he would hear abrupt movement from either of them.

“Hmmm.. Have you seen her grandmother by any chance?”

Susan spit the food out of her mouth, laughing as Samantha began to release a crackle. Isaac stood dumfounded, unsure of how to answer this question.

“I… Do not know…”

“I apologize.. Poor joke on my part. She was a good woman, just a bit too strict with the girl.”

“I am not joking.”

“I didn’t think you were. They did find some night creatures out in the fields, I guess they thought they came with the army. So is this where you kill us and make us your demons too?”

While the question was worded lightheartedly, Isaac did notice a nervous tension in the air. He knew that he had the upper hand.

“I… No. You have shown me kindness and hospitality. I have no reason to.”

“Well, that’s good. I suppose kindness does make a difference.”

The rest of the dinner was silent, as Isaac and Samantha became lost in their own thoughts. Susan, bless her young soul, was oblivious of the gravity of the situation. When she had finished her meal, she had asked to excuse herself, and ran back to her bedroom. After a few more minutes of cleaning their plates. Samantha stood up and took Isaac’s empty plate from him, heading over to the sink.

“The cot is still yours, if you’d like it. Otherwise, I can’t hold you here against your will. I’d greatly appreciate it if you didn’t make me into a night creature, I’d like to see my little girl grow up one day.”

“You have my word.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in the other bedroom. If you need anything, holler.”

“Thank you.”

Isaac made his way back to the cot. Perhaps he could make his way back to his city tomorrow morning when the sun rose? Or should he stay an extra day or two and help Samantha in repayment for her hospitality? Isaac decided towards the latter, drifting off to sleep once more- the warmth of the meat and potatoes easing his body into a peaceful slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Get dressed! I have to show you something” Lenore giggled as she began to push Hector out of bed. Hector still struggled to grasp the events of the night before, but to no avail. He soon dropped the subject and began to dress himself in the black cloak Lenore had given him yesterday.

“I don’t suppose you’re showing me another cell?”

“Hmph, silly. I’m showing you your new forge!” Lenore said as she began to wait by the door, smiling.

“Already?" Hector was surprised at the quick turnaround it took to build his home. It had taken Dracula 3 days to build the forge alone.

"Yes! We vampires are quite efficient you know." Lenore purred seductively, blatantly eyeing Hector's body as he clumsily dressed into his new tunic.

"Al.. Alright then.” Hector failed to return the seductive nod.

“Good boy. Come on!” Lenore beckoned, her patience waning. Hector finished putting on his shirt and walked over her. She gripped Hector’s hand.

Lenore began to drag Hector through the labyrinth of hallways once more, this time taking a slightly different path than the one before. Hector realized that she was leading him through a section of the castle he had never seen before, the walls were less ornate and the breeze became stronger. Before long he found himself walking outside the castle towards a polished oak house, adorned with a crimson roof, emerald colored door, and a hearty marble chimney- its warmth creating a welcoming glow that contrasted the frigid outdoors. If Hector had the means, he would have imagined that this is what his dream home would look like. As he followed Lenore inside, he noticed that the home consisted of four rooms. A modest but high quality kitchen with a stone island countertop stacked with an abundance of spices awaited them upon entering, connected to a master bedroom with furniture similar to the one they had just left. This bedroom had a few differences such as wooden floors instead of marble, neutral colors instead of crimson, and less ornate of a design. It seemed that Lenore had created this house in the image of what she believed Hector would like, with a flair of her own. While the feminine qualities of polished wood and silk bedding remained, the art design took a more masculine and minimalist tone, acknowledging Hector’s simplicity while respecting Lenore’s appreciation for the extravagant. The third room was a study that resembled a mini library, seethed in the scent of paper and mahogany. It contained a multitude of shelves stacked with various tomes of magic and forging, the walls so packed with shelves that there was no room for any wall décor. Simplistic, just how Hector liked it.. In the far center of the study stood a decent sized oak desk illuminated with candles- was it the same one in the cell? It seemed that Lenore took notice of Hector’s affinity for reading. The final room was a forge- modeled with the exact same design as the forge he had in Dracula’s castle, the only addition was a large marble fireplace in the center.

“Forgive the design, but we’ve never had a forge master before, and we wanted to make sure the forge was a model you were used to working with.” Lenore murmured, her hand still tightly holding Hector’s.

“Uhm, thank you.” Hector responded, still trying to process it all.

“Do you like it?” It seemed like a genuine question.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Good.” Lenore turned around began to embrace Hector and give him a peck on the lips, then parting herself and stating, in a wistful tone:

“I have to go back to the council chambers. But I’ll be back tonight.”

“Alright” Hector responded, going with the flow of the moment. He had been too preoccupied with the overload of sensory information to be properly in the moment with her.

Lenore glided out the door, leaving Hector alone to adjust to his new surroundings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Will the forge do?” Striga asked as Lenore entered the council chambers, Morana And Carmilla were in the far left corner, pouring themselves a glass of blood.

‘I suppose so. I guess the puppy is still processing it all” Lenore responded in a matter of fact tone as she walked towards the table. Carmilla turned around, surprised at her response.

“So you agree that he’s an idiot?”

“He has a lot to learn” Lenore spoke diplomatically, focusing her attention on the battle map.

“How soon do you think he will be able to build us an army?” Morana enquired as she began to move towards the center table, joining Striga and Lenore. Carmilla remained by the cabinet, her face slighltly annoyed as she let out a scoff.

“He’ll be able to build it as soon as we damn well tell him to. He has the forge” Carmilla responded curtly. She knew the question was not meant for her.

“Yes… But he’s a bit exhausted from all the change, I’d say we should give him a couple of days before he’s back at his full strength” Lenore suggested meekly- she knew Carmilla would have none of it.

“Oh bloody hell, he’s our forge master. We tell him to build and he’ll do it.”

“Carmilla, I think that this time we should listen to Lenore, she did fix this problem” Morana reasoned. She knew that Lenore was far too diplomatic to argue with Carmilla when she was irritated, and this compelled her to side with Lenore from time to time. Usually this would yield fruitful results, but Carmilla was having none of it today. She was now bordering on bewilderment and fury.

“Are you all just going to stand there and pamper the idiot like he’s a fucking prince?! We gave him a forge, we gave him a home, so he better make us something when we tell him to! Now, if you three aren’t women enough to do it, I will” Carmilla exploded as she waited for one of the sisters to challenge her. After an awkward silence and no responses, Carmilla rushed out of the council chamber, cursing under her breath and she slammed the door and began to pace down the hallway toward the hut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hector.”

Carmilla called dryly as she invited herself into his new home. He was in the study, still examining the countless tomes of sorcery gifted to him when she found him. She had attempted to sneak up behind him but Hector noticed her scent, turning around to face her as she entered the study. A palpable tension filled the air. Hector stared at her nervously, he had not forgotten the months of abuse she had given him during their march to Styria. He let out an involuntary flinch when she began to move closer to him.

“How do you like the forge?”

“Good, I th-“

Carmilla cut him off

“Good. Listen, I need you to start making an army NOW. Frankly, we’re a bit behind on production so Striga will give you a pile of bodies within the hour to work on, and I expect you to work until its done.

“Today?? I haven’t even been he—“

Carmilla raised her hand to strike Hector. He involuntarily flinched and braced himself for the impact that was about to come, but as she swung, Carmilla felt a jolt of searing pain course through her body, originating from her striking hand and making its way down to her core. If someone had poured electric lava on her body and allowed it to flow through her like a lightning rod, she would have been a smidge happier. She fell on the wooden floor, screaming as her body began to throb uncontrollably. Hector stood dumbfounded, standing over her, trying to make sense of what was going on. After a minute of wailing and clenching the pain instantly subsided, with Carmilla panting on the ground, her eyes wide from shock. _"What the fuck was that?!"_ Carmilla internally screamed, her mind going instantly towards the ring that Lenore had given her. Hector continued to stand over her, this time his face stern, and his posture powerful. Once she regained the energy to stand up, however, his meekness began to resurface. Carmilla crawled away from him towards the door before finally assuming her full posture.

“This isn’t over. I still expect an army” She glared.

Hector regained his powerful stance. A wave of trepidation washed over Carmilla. Hector did not respond.

Carmilla had the urge to demand a response, but was too shocked to follow through. Apart from disbelief, she almost felt a sense of awe towards the human- she had forgotten how tall and powerfully build Hector really was. She jolted through the main door faster than Hector’s eyes could manage, leaving nothing but the scent of fear and panic. He stood motionless.

As strange as it sounded to him, Hector had enjoyed seeing Carmilla scream and squirm. He had always identified as a pacifist, but seeing this wretched monster experience an ungodly amount of pain gave Hector a jolt not even Lenore could compensate for. It left him with a subtle tingle coursing through his body, washing over his chest like ecstasy. He had liked being in control. Liked seeing the horror take over as he stood there, invincible. For a blessed moment she was nothing, and he was everything. A perfect parallel to the world that she had given him. A smile began to surface on his face as he walked back to his desk, resuming his research on Vampire physiology.


	4. The Night and the Blood

Lenore, Striga, and Morana had been resuming the battle plans when they heard the main door smash open, its hinges flying in several directions. Carmilla had charged into the room with arms waving frantically, face tinged with crimson and violet. Carmilla lunged at Lenore, who sat 10 feet away on the other side of the circular table. Lenore jumped out of her chair, shielding herself from the incoming impact. Luckily, Striga had quick reflexes- she had gripped Carmilla in a bear hug to restrain the queen from physically contacting the diplomat. Morana stood next to Lenore, paralyzed by the moment. Morana was used to Carmilla’s outbursts on the guards and workers, but lunging at a sister was very unusual for her. Lenore must have done something incredibly wrong, Morana concluded.

“YOU STUPID BITCH!” Carmilla screamed as she wrestled with Striga. Lenore feigned a look of shock and disbelief.

“My sister, what have I done wrong?”

Her innocent tone only enraged Carmilla further

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WRONG?! YOU SET THE RING TO TORTURE ME WHENEVER I LAY A HAND ON HECTOR!!”

Striga loosened her grip slightly, in shock. Morana turned her gaze of disbelief from Carmilla’s frantic tantrum to Lenore.

“You did what?” Morana gasped

Their entire focus was now on Lenore. The tension as thick as ice. Carmilla had stopped swinging, halting her assault. Her face was still full of rage, any misstep would cause her to start swinging again. Striga cautiously let go of the queen and stood puzzled.

Lenore smiled coolly, attempting to maintain a light atmosphere amidst the chaos.

“Remember when I told you that whenever Hector tried to hurt us, the ring would cause him so much pain he thought he’d shit his own heart out? Well, the same rules apply to us.”

Morana and Striga did not respond, waiting for her to continue. In the several moments of silence, Carmilla was too preoccupied with internally restraining herself from killing Lenore. Morana attempted to make sense of the situation. Once she felt that she was able to grasp some understanding, Morana finally spoke.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Morana asked coldly, her disdain palpable

Lenore kept her demeanor, stating

“Well, Carmilla almost killed him on the march from Braila, Striga just talks about killing him, and you love to torture things. I said that he gets to feel safe, and I meant it. Hard to feel safe when you have three vampire sisters talking about killing you every day. Think of it as insurance.”

Morana understood this logic, but did not agree with it. She had also felt deceived. Had she known the ring’s stipulations, she would have never put it on. She instantly remembered Striga’s distrust a day earlier, and covered her face with her hand shamefully. Carmilla’s rage had cooled precipitously, but her hatred did not subside. Carmilla poised her next response to be as malicious as possible.

“Well luckily _Striga_ didn’t put that thing on, so she can torture your pet all she likes” Carmilla smirked

“No… I convinced her to put it on last night” Morana moaned, her face still buried in her hand.

Carmilla’s smirk dissipated, and her blood boiled. Lenore’s face remained as perfect as porcelain. Carmilla had realized that Lenore manipulated them all, and for what? To please a human pet that had the wisdom of a bird? She hadn’t felt this worthless since her army was wiped out at Braila. She had to figure out more about these rings. Striga looked at the floor in remorse, arms crossed, regretting the decision to listen to Morana.

“So I don’t suppose we can take them off either?” Carmilla snapped, her arms trembling.

“You can try, but it won’t work. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you like it will hurt Hector. In order to remove them, though, we all need to take them off at the same time” Lenore explained, redirecting her attention to all of the sisters, not just Carmilla. Her hands glided against the marble war table as she circled it, catching against the parchment.

Carmilla’s temper flared to dangerous levels. She was determined to let her have no satisfaction from this betrayal. She slammed her left hand down on the battle map, curled it into a fist, and hurled it at Lenore, storming out of the chamber. The paper pelted Lenore in the face, surprising her so much she reflexively thrusted her hands towards her chest in a protective mechanism, her nails gashing the black satin that covered her chest.

Carmilla did not hear footsteps behind her, so she knew Morana and Striga weren’t following. She marched towards her chamber, the only place she could stand being in without ripping someone’s throat out. A few minutes later, Striga followed suit, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Morana did not move, her body like a statue, facing Lenore.

“Lenore, I need to speak with you.” Morana said sternly.

The two stood polar opposite of each other from the war table, a contrast of stone and porcelain. Morana poised high, looking every bit the tactician she was, muscles tensed and eyes narrow. Lenore stood delicately, her smile perfectly contoured and her brows furrowed with innocence.

“Why did you really give our rings that effect?”

“I told you, it’s for insurance and safety.”

“But you knew how valuable Hector is to us, and how unlikely It would be that one of us would gravely harm him. Why would you willingly give someone outside us four so much power?”

“Its not power, Morana, It’s security. I know how valuable he is, and his purpose here. How can I be a diplomat when everything I promised is not fulfilled, but he upholds his end of the bargain? I’m doing this for us, Morana. You may not see it now, but you will soon.”

Morana’s eyes narrowed, and her lips tightened. She pierced Lenore with a cold, merciless gaze that had made many vampire warlords tremble in fear. The tension was so thick you could have cut it with a butter knife. For a moment long enough for Morana to notice, Lenore’s porcelain smile cracked and her eyes began to show a bit of uneasiness, before quickly resuming their façade.

“Lenore, I need to know that you are on **our** side.”

“Of course, sister. I’ve always been.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The evening had come, a snowstorm was beating its fists over the isolated cabin. Inside the warm interior Hector had finished making dinner. He had never been an avid cook, but the assortment of spices decorated on the oak walls had inspired him to try. The vampire magic that powered the kettle or the ice box was beyond his understanding, but he appreciated the effect it had on the preservation of meats and perishables. He had also loved how the kitchen opened up into a living room, with outlets leading to the three things he cherished most- reading, sleeping, and forging. Despite his underlying animosity with the sisters, he had been thoroughly impressed with the home they provided him. Musing over the aftermath of his recent encounter with Carmilla, he was just now coming down from the high of the moment. Striga had not arrived, so his day was spent reading, searching, planning. The confrontation had given him a ray of hope brighter than any in recent memory. He had felt that his willpower was regained, and with it his dignity. He sat contemplatively, shoulders slouched over the countertop, his mind running through a series of algorithms that were temporarily interrupted by his unresolved feelings for Lenore. He was never as decisive as he wanted to be, but this was as close as he could muster. From a distance, if a guard happened to look at the window, he would see a man simply eating a plate of season salmon and potatoes, face illuminated by the embers of the stone fireplace in one room, and forge in another. The guard would be oblivious of the internal turmoil in that man’s mind, not struggling to act, but struggling on how to act. Scheming on which plan would yield him the best chance of survival, and most importantly- freedom. He was finishing dinner, picking the bones off the rosemary-thyme grilled salmon, gulping down his water when he heard the main door open. Hector turned to the right and saw Lenore.

“Hello, darling” Lenore greeted, her figure moved from the doorway towards Hector. Instead of having her hands drape around his shoulders as usual, she sat down on one of the three wooden stools that were underneath the island counter, opposite side of Hector, and rested her arms on its marble surface. Something felt off, Hector thought. She seemed more distant than usual.

“How was your day?” Lenore asked sweetly, but with a tension in her voice palpable enough for Hector to notice. He had to tell her about Carmilla.

“It was good... Carmilla came to visit me.”

“I know…”

The uneasiness amplified. Lenore drooped her shoulders, eyes weary. The tension began to drain any color left in her face.

“She tried to strike me Lenore, but there was a magic that stopped her. What was it?”

A second of silence struck the air before Lenore dodged the question. Instead she stood up and walked towards Hector, regaining most the virility she usually had. She had reanimated, confusing Hector even further. Hector reflexively flinched back as she put her right hand on his cheek and gazed into his eyes.

“I told you Hector, you get to feel safe.”

Hector felt a pit of warmth inside of him, easing him of past doubt. He took his hand and placed it on her breast, and noticed a small cut in the fabric of her collar bone area, the black satin stained with red.

“Lenore, your shirt is cut”

Lenore skirted away from Hector, clutching her hands on the ripped fabric, averting her gaze from him. Her liveliness had evaporated, she resembled a beaten puppy.

“What..? Oh its nothing…”

‘What’s wrong?” Hector asked, feeling concerned

“Oh, Carmilla struck me, that’s all.” Lenore said, attempting to redirect the conversation. She had said it so nonchalantly, but the way she averted her gaze spoke volumes of a different story to him.

Hector felt the rage well up inside him.

“She struck you?!”

The emotions displayed themselves clearly on his face and Lenore took notice. She immediately retreated to her original position of embracing him, this time even more tenderly. Despite their height difference, she held a protective presence, cupping his cheeks with both her hands.

“Yes, but I’m fine, really. I’m here with you, that’s all that matters.” Lenore hushed

“She shouldn’t have struck you.”

“I know Hector. But I told you- You get to feel safe.”

The explanation had left him confused, and strangely aroused. Feeling nurtured was not a common feeling for Hector, he had fended for himself throughout his entire life. He couldn’t grasp how this woman would risk her physical well-being to ensure his safety. Perhaps she was right, in that she had saved his life? These thoughts flickered inside of him, growing to intense proportions.

Silence had carried itself for several moments before he decided to respond with his actions instead of words.

He began to feel his hormones take over his confusion, forcing their way onto her lips. The moment intensified as Lenore returned the passion. What followed was his hands grasping her thighs and carrying her to the bedroom, neither were sure how it progressed so fast. He thrashed her body on the bedsheets as he pounced. Lenore squealed in excitement, intensifying as his lips made its way beneath her hips. A sensual introduction for the moments to come.

Minutes later, between breathless thrusts he heard her moan “You’re mine” as she dug her claws deep into his backside.

  
The compassion he had for her began to rekindle, and he had spent the next half an hour continuing to nurture it. Unfortunately for Hector, the bliss had been fleeting, as darker voices began to surface. Their entrances unannounced.

“ _You’re still the baby who had his woodland animal corpses taken away_.”

_“The real people are talking”_

The Hector from a few hours earlier had returned. He had briefly left to give his tender half a moment of spotlight, but come mid intercourse, he had shattered it with full force.

_“Chapter 35.. Blood physiology... A forgemaster’s blood contains some magical properties elusive to Vampire scholars… With some vampires reporting effects similar to opiates… however, due to insufficient sample size ( <2) and conflicting evidence, conclusions are not definitive…”_

He remembered reading earlier today

_“She drank my blood the first night she visited my cell…”_

He remembered thinking

Lenore was too preoccupied to catch the uncertain flickers in his eyes. Caught between a fleeting passion and a growing animosity, he cleared his mind and hoped the next thought would silence one of the Hectors for eternity. Thrust after thrust he became more unsure than ever.

“Good boy” Lenore whimpered

A flash of anger rushed through Hector- bringing him a lethal clarity. It was all that one half needed to extinguish the other. He thrust his left wrist into her mouth, forcing her fangs into the underbelly of his palm. Her eyes widened in shock as she processed the rush of blood entering her mouth. She grasped both of her hands on his left arm- almost crushing it with her iron grip. Her breaths shortened as he titrated it to scientific accuracy, pushing the boundaries of her limits as her eyes screamed of sensory overload. Right as he began to feel dizzy, he grabbed her hair and yanked her head away from his wrist. Lenore did not reach back, the rush of ecstasy had robbed her conscious control. She had repeatedly climaxed, her breath quivered, eyes glossy, her body more pale than usual. She was usually responsive and upbeat after a session, but this one had left her paralyzed.

“Oh my god.” Lenore whispered, finally catching her breath as she faced the ceiling.

Hector rolled over to the right side of the bed, face down, facing away from her. The venom had left his body, now wreaking havoc on his lover. He felt her arms wrap around him, and pull him towards her as he dozed off. As he fell asleep, he felt a tender nibble on his right ear, followed by the words “You belong to me”.

~~~ _One hour later_ ~~~

Lenore laid naked next to Hector, her body nestled like a big spoon, but no physical contact was shared. The satin sheets covered both of them generously, forming glossy waves between the two. After he fell asleep she had spent the night staring blankly at him, consumed by curiosity. She was puzzled when Hector thrust his arm into her. What human would willingly give his own blood like that? Was that a kink of his? Whatever he did worked though, the climax that followed far exceeded any one she had before. Once curious inquiries withered, her remaining thoughts coalesced in a puddle of raw feelings. Sensitive thoughts began to form. _What is this feeling inside my gut? Why am I craving his presence so much? Does he feel the same way?_ She hadn’t remembered the last time she felt so vulnerable towards anyone, the walls she had placed so meticulously had come crashing down. She was relieved that Hector was facing away from her, he couldn’t see her like this. Not yet, at least. As his breathing continued to slow, she watched him for hours, mesmerized by the rhythms of his chest. She spent the next 3 hours trying to fall asleep, before finally dozing off. For the first time in a long time, she began to dream- about Hector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I was incredibly skeptical about putting in the second part of this chapter in the story- It felt like the riskiest plot development so far. Let me know how you all feel about it, and whether you think it works!


	5. Vytas

Isaac woke up a couple of hours later to pitch black, and couldn’t fall back asleep. His mind took a turn from peaceful to worrisome, his doubts amplifying amongst the abyss. He lay face up in his cot and pretended that he was gazing into the stars, his imagination recreating a beacon of light. His stomach was warm, but his heart was cold. He felt ice radiate through his shins and creep up to his arms. The only time he ever felt this way was when he felt alone. Truly alone.

The laughter of Lucy, the hospitality of Samantha, and the warmth of a home cooked meal only unsheathed a slew of repressed memories. Luxuries he was too poor to afford, as foreign to him as the icy peaks of Styria. Envy washed over him like a tidal wave, a sorrow for a love he never had.

_Is this what it feels like to be human?_

Isaac began to recall his past few days in Admont. Samantha’s care, the indifference of the citizens, even the simple charity from the merchant felt so simple, so peaceful. A city fueled by a sense of community and understanding, and a world void of ulterior intent. A world not even Dracula could give him. His mind traced back to his conversation with Hector in the woods, it seemed aeons ago when they last spoke, both oblivious of the path fate would take both of them. _Is this what Hector saw?_

Isaac wondered if Hector too had lost his innocence.

He knew that deep down, his life was not normal. While he normally suppressed these sentiments with a coping mechanism developed from years of torture, he was never able to silence them. From time to time a gentler Isaac resurfaced, singing his frail voice in the empty chambers of his soul, begging for someone to listen. He had ignored that voice every time, spitting in its face as he drained the life of others around him- _Here I am._ He gloated as his hands would be tainted with the blood of another.

_If god was good, why would he do this to me?_

Although his screams were aimed at the voice, he knew that deep down, he was trying to convince himself. Tonight, there was nothing- only cold reminiscence.

He gazed at the ceiling until daybreak, or until the Lucy’s playful screams told him that morning for the family had come. He rose from his cot and walked over to the kitchen after he heard movement from both women. Samantha was sitting at the dinner table, hands empty, in a pondering position. Unbeknownst to Isaac, she had also suffered a sleepless night. She was in deep contemplation, only breaking her silence with a simple nod.

“Do you have a moment?” Isaac asked, hesitating to take a seat next to her until she gave him approval

“Of course” She beckoned to the chair next to her. Isaac took a seat and faced her, crouched over, arms resting on his knees. He knew that he had to structure his next sentence carefully.

“I want to thank you for the hospitality you had given me, and it is in none of my intentions to harm you… You have treated me with nothing but kindness”

Samantha stayed silent, his gratitude had ushered her into a deeper contemplation than before. Isaac waited anxiously as her face revealed a canvas of conflicting emotions before finally settling into a peaceful expression. She rested her hand on Isaac’s lap after what seemed to be an eternity of silence, replying solemnly

“I know. Take a walk with me, will you?”

Isaac was surprised at the request. Her response was impactful, but far briefer than he would have liked. He was unable to read her, unable to guess what the purpose of her request was. He nodded- for that was all he could do, and placed his hand onto hers when she motioned him to. He stood after her and followed her out of the cabin.

She lead him outside through the sparse potato crops that grew in the backyard and towards the city walls. Isaac realized that she lived right on the city’s edge, tucked away in a small northeast corner of the district. He knew that outside those walls lay a wasteland of mountains and ash, it was amazing how similar Admont was to an oasis in a desert. She had only taken him 30 feet behind the potato crops towards a small clearing of bushes and trees, populating the corner attachment of the city’s perimeter. Within a few steps the bushes evolved into a forest consisting of sparsely scattered pine trees, an odd patch of land in a metropolitan region. Perhaps it was a park tucked away to be forgotten?

Samantha continued to the end of the forest, brushing aside branches and moss like a safari hunter. Isaac followed diligently, occasionally dodging the unintentional swing of trees. As he approached the end, what remained was a cluster of trees shielding a junction of two walls from the rays of sunlight. Moss had overgrown this area from years of inattentiveness, and the walls were cracked from negligence. Samantha surveyed one of the walls with her hands as Isaac stood back and watched inquisitively. _Is she showing me a secret passage?_ He wondered.

After an awkward silence, Samantha finally found what she was looking for. When she did, she grabbed Isaac’s right hand with her left, and pulled him to the area of the wall where her right hand still was. Isaac peered his eyes and say that they were resting on a crudely carved engraving.

_Vytas_

“He was my husband” Samantha explained as she ran her hands through the concrete, her eyes fixated on the engraving. It was the first of a long time since she had visited, as she felt no reason to. It had taken her years to recover, moments like these ran the risk of reopening memories of a better past.

“A grave?” Isaac asked

“A memorial. His grave lies several miles outside these walls.” Samantha replied matter-of-factly.

“Him and I met when we were in our twenties. I was a Transylvanian noble desperate to free myself from the aristocracy of my family, and he was a gypsy forgemaster from the Baltics.”

Isaac’s eyes widened in shock

“A forgemaster?!”

Samantha let a tiny smile escape her face, deepening the wrinkles that time had so cruelly given her. _Yes, a forgemaster._ When Isaac mentioned his profession last night, it clicked. His sad demeanor, his cold glare, and the impenetrable wall that shielded his thoughts. It was the same glare Vytas had his final years. Only Isaac was much younger. She could not imagine the trials this young man went through if he displayed such callousness at such an age.

“Yes, a forgemaster… He had been a hero in his hometown, and traveled Europe in hopes of creating a bigger impact. He didn’t think of it as resurrecting demons from hell, he thought of it as giving someone a second chance. He loved his work... More than he loved me...”

Samantha trailed off, his image began to materialize in her mind. She had remembered his wispy blonde hair, his wiry build, and the silver eyes that captivated her the moment he saved her from a group of thugs in a Gavonic Village. _They were so peaceful_ she had always thought. Seeing his eyes in Lucy’s gave her a similar sense of tranquility, his parting gift to the world.

Memories of that fateful night continued to resurface

“Come with me Samantha!” He had said later at the pub. After the thugs ran from his night demon, he offered her a drink to forget the incident. She had never seen a night demon before, and said yes only so that she could ask him how she could get one of her own… _What would have happened if she had said no?_ However, they spent the whole night talking about their pasts, present, and future, a powerful spark shared between kindred souls. She was an aristocrat trying to make sense of a world that was so cruel and constricting, and he was a traveler forging his own path despite the odds. On paper, they could not have been less alike.

“Listen. I went to this farmhouse where a wife had lost her husband. She was about to starve to death with 4 of her children until I turned him into a night creature. He now cares for her crops, cooks her and the children dinner, and they don’t have to live in fear anymore. Can you imagine a world like that, Sam? What if we had a world where death was just the beginning, where you never had to worry about loss when someone had died? Where the life you have built with someone lasts forever? _We could give that to this world. Samantha._ Can you imagine?” How innocent he was back then, how happy… 

He sounded crazy when he said it. Crazy enough for Samantha to fall for him.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

Isaac’s response cut the silence like a blade. Samantha stood motionless, hands now off the etching. She smiled softly, biding farewell to the memories like an old friend. This moment was for Isaac, not Vytas.

“He forged as way to channel his love for the world. Sometimes, you can tell when someone has a path that’s unique- the way their eyes light up, the aura of their soul. When you said that you were a forgemaster, I knew it wasn’t a coincidence. You may not see it yet, but I reckon there’s the reason why you’re still alive. God has a plan for you, you are going to make this world better.”

Samantha’s words were unexpected and powerful. Isaac felt a knot tie in his chest, it was as if Samantha had felt his ambivalence this whole time. Perhaps it was a coincidence? Isaac maintained his stoic face- he wasn’t allowed to display such moments of vulnerability. He had been screwed over too many times to reveal his thoughts.

“Perhaps the world is too late for saving, or that god is not here anymore” He replied coldly

Vytas’s death resurfaced, his final words echoed in her mind. A flash of intensity flickered in her eyes.

“No.”

Isaac was taken aback, she continued

“I know that’s what you’d _like_ to believe, though.”

After a moment of tense silence, she held both of Isaac’s hands with hers. Samantha knew she couldn’t end the conversation there, she couldn’t condemn this forgemaster to a similar fate.

“I know you mean well, and if you are still trying to find your place in this world, you can stay here however long you may please.”

“I.. Thank you.” Isaac said in a detached tone. He was lost in a mental abyss, still processing the conversation.

“Of course. Go out and walk around the city, maybe you’ll find something to keep yourself occupied” Samantha walked back into the hut.

Isaac stood outside the door, staring blankly at her as she walked away. Questions began to invade his mind. Questions that needed answering.

Isaac bolted back into the house and grabbed her shoulder with his right hand as if to turn it around, then softened his grip to assure her he meant no harm. _Who was this woman?!_

“Did you always know I was forgemaster?” Isaac demanded, ignoring Samantha’s shocked expression.

“No! It was a lucky coincidence”

That answer was not enough for Isaac.

“Why did you really let me stay? What do you want from me?”

A stint of tension filled the room, cut only by Samantha’s sighing. Samantha felt Isaac’s confusion, and tried her best to give him an answer he needed to hear. It was as if a child had forced her to reveal an innocent secret. She dropped her shoulders, looked down, and spoke in a defeated tone.

“Nothing, Isaac. I had never wanted anything from you at all. It’s hard to be alone in this world, and I know pain when I see it. The kind of pain that cuts deep, and the only way of coping is to run until you find a lesser pain to mask it altogether. You have a stoic face, but sad eyes. I haven’t seen you smile once since you awoke. I don’t know where your path will take you, but all I hope is to have some positive impact in your journey of finding yourself. I hope that’s not too selfish of me to ask.”

Isaac was speechless. His face betrayed his shock- his eyes were wide open, his mouth hanging agape. His powerful frame holding its figure, but sapped of its virility. Samantha had noticed this, and had placed her hand on his heart.

“But… You do not even know me…” Isaac stuttered

“No… But I know what’s it’s like to be a forgemaster.”

A moment of tenderness was shared between them. No words were spoken, the silence formed a bond of mutual understanding. They were strangers, yet kindred souls in a foreign land. Samantha was a healer, and Isaac was the wounded. She had known the demons inside her husband were far greater than the ones he created, and knew the burden of a cursed profession. She had regretted ignoring the wounds of her husband. The moment lasted for what seemed to be an eternity, the two figures motionless in time. It seared Isaac’s mind with an echo that would remain in him forever, a painting.

Isaac felt tears begin to form in his eyes, then resumed his poker face one he felt them materialize. With this gesture, time had finally begun spinning its wheels again. The painting shattered like glass. He had been far too vulnerable for far too long. She could not see him like this.

Without saying a word, Isaac turned his head and bolted out the door. It was his only way of coping. He needed to find somewhere to recollect his thoughts. Samantha watched him as he disappeared with a look of weariness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hector woke up alone. Lenore had left far before he awoke, and had left no trace of her being at the house. _That’s… unusual_ Hector thought as he began to dress himself. She had always left something in his bedroom, whether it be a piece of jewelry or an article of clothing as excuse to visit later in the night. Not that she needed to, she knew that she could visit him whenever her heart desired. Hector figured that it was her way of hiding her affection for him- she was almost as afraid of her vulnerability as him. He wondered whether she was growing tired of him, it seemed natural for vampires.

He had read about the effects of the forgemaster’s blood on vampires, and had played a risky hand last night. Only time will tell whether his gamble will pay off, an uncertainty that gave him dread and excitement. Even if he proved unsuccessful, he couldn’t help but smile at the sense of empowerment it gave him. Maybe it was the crucial advantage he needed, or maybe it would be his undoing. He wondered if Lenore had discovered his intentions, and had left the morning in anger. However, this did not seem likely, she wouldn’t have let such a betrayal pass unpunished. He hoped that next time he saw her, she would not ask questions. It would be inevitable though, he had acted _very_ out of character last night.

Hector dressed himself in a simple black tunic and made his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. He made himself a mushroom omelet that was complimented with 3 thick slices of bacon, the smell of pork permeated the air. He felt drained, as usual, with a series of chills and aches that resembled a minor cold. He gulped down a cup of cold brew coffee, hoping for an 8pm boost.

Adjusting to the vampire sleep schedule was a struggle for Hector. He would have preferred to wake to the rising sun, but Lenore insisted that they sleep together. He tried to resist, but this was one of the few things she was adamant about. Otherwise, she had been quite lenient with him despite the ring ordeal. These type of stipulations were mainly geared towards affection, so Hector didn’t mind following the rules too much. It felt nice in a way, to have someone strive for your attention.

Right as he finished his meal, he heard the front door crudely open. The timing was eerily well placed, he even finished the last of his coffee. A vampire stood outside, her long black hair blocking the edges of the door. Her navy armor displayed intricate patterns of silver and blood, and on her waist rested a leather sheath containing a great sword of terrifying size. Hector did not want to guess how she would fare against him. She was larger than any vampire Hector had ever seen, her shoulders completely engulfed an entrance what would have fit two vampire bodyguards. Her pupils resembled obsidian orbs, complimented by the cruel lines that etched her forehead. Hector shuddered at the sight of her.

“You need to unlock the side door to the forge” she said in an irritated tone. She stood motionless as Hector fearfully nodded and made his way to the forge to unlock the side door. _So this is what it’s made for_ he concluded as he pushed open the crude oak door. Once he did, he saw that she waited at the other side.

“These are for you.” she said as she started to lug the bodies from the side door into the forge, piling a mound of 40 corpses of villagers, deserters, and bandits alike. The room and forging table was shaped in an identical fashion to his forge in Dracula’s castle, save for an absence of furniture and windows. The only illumination was a small fireplace rested in the far right corner, a lonely edition in a room completely barren. The walls served to dim the atmosphere further, its smooth cement constructing a symbolic prison for the forgemaster. The only source of color in the room stemmed from the blood red carpet that enveloped a circular aura around the table. The same shade of red that rested on Lenore. A clever design choice from the diplomat.

“Thank you” Hector responded as he grabbed a middle aged male villager’s corpse and stacked it on the table. She was surprised at his gratitude. She made her way to the corner of the room by the fireplace and rested against the icy wall, her face illuminated by the flickers of a cold crimson flame. She watched Hector as he grabbed an assembly of tools beneath the table and stacked them next to the villager.

“I suppose you’re one of my bodyguards?” Hector asked as he began to strip the corpse, his back facing her. He found it difficult to forge under such tension.

A question like this would have infuriated Carmilla or Morana. However, she took no offense, if anything she was refreshed at his ignorant honesty. She let out a chuckle.

“I take it Lenore has been too busy training you to mention her sisters?”

Hector paused, and realized the error of his statement. _Striga_. Luckily his back was turned to her, otherwise she would have seen him sweating profusely.

‘Oh… You must be Striga.” Hector said in a flat voice, his best attempt at keeping cool.

“Ah, So she did talk about me” Striga mused

“Apologies. I should have known.”

“There was no way you could have. Consider it forgiven.”

Hector’s earlier gratitude saved him. She would have been cruel if he showed any sense of entitlement.

Hector resumed his preparation of the body, doing his best to forget the incident. He figured that Striga had no interest in sticking around, so his nerves began to ease. Once he was done with the prep and grabbed his hammer, he noticed that Striga was _still_ in the room. _It had been at least half an hour_ Hector thought. His anxiety flared.

“Is there anything you need from me?” Hector asked meekly as he mentally prepared for the forging process. His eyes locked with Striga’s intense gaze.

“No. I have heard stories of your skill, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

A wave of relief washed over Hector, he had thought she came to punish him for the incident with Carmilla. He turned back around and began to strike his hammer against the forge. He needed to warm his instruments before they could generate flame, it was necessary in a frigid environment such as Styria. Sparks flew from the steel hammer towards the table, bouncing off the granite like a series of showers.

“It’s a human skill, you know. They say that you need a human connection to bring back the souls from hell.” Hector explained as his face grew warmer from the sparks. A stream of marine emanated from the head of the hammer and engulfed the perimeter in rhythmic cycles of flame, fading and rising like turbulent waves. Hector was rusty, normally the flames would only cover the body.

“Why would a human want to bring back the souls of hell?” The logic intrigued her.

The jet of flames grew more concentrated towards the body as the villager began to twist, shake, and spasm. Hector was finally catching his rhythm.

“I don’t, I’m being forced to.”

Hector’s boldness surprised him and Striga

“Yes… But before you forged for vampires, you forged for yourself. I am asking why.”

The sound of steel and granite filled the air for the next few moments. Striga had asked him a legitimate question.

“Because the night creatures that I make are loyal. They have no ulterior intent or seek domination. They are simply animals trying to co exist in the same world as us, so who am I to turn them away? And they show undying gratitude for what I give them. Could you say the same for humans and vampires?”

A pair of enormous bat wings began to sprout from the twitching body, the villagers eyes began to turn pitch black and his torso began to swell. However, Hector’s response is what surprised Striga the most.

“You use these creatures simply for co existence? You were a general in Dracula’s court, yet you have no ulterior motive of your own? You could have made your own army and taken a kingdom with such a skill.”

“Maybe. But what’s the point in that? We’re all animals, Striga. We ultimately co exist within the confines of nature, who are we to fight it? We could simply recognize our roles in the world and fit in an organic structure. No malice. No deception. Simply living.”

The villager’s swollen body ripped apart as a scaly obsidian hide began to sprout from the decayed skin. The decomposed face morphed into a demon as the newly resurrected creature propelled itself off the stone. Its first breath was spent swinging recklessly at Hector, halting when their eyes connected. Striga reflexively grabbed her sword and lunged at the creature, only to stop when Hector gently placed his other hand on the top of demon’s head and petted it like a puppy. She cautiously proceeded towards the creature and stood a foot away from it, analyzing its brawny build and gruesome expression. _Impressive. This creature is loyal to me too_ she thought. After a few moments of admiring his work, she turned her back and made her way towards the exit.

‘I suppose Carmilla was right. You are a _boy_ genius”

Striga remarked as her figure disappeared in the doorway. Hector did not hear her; he was too preoccupied petting the demon.

Although Striga’s words were harsh, they served to mask her reluctant appreciation for the forgemaster. Carmilla had painted a portrait of a blabbering idiot who felt entitled to royalty, but what Striga saw somewhat contradicted that. While he did display a level of naivety, his sentiments of loyalty and community resonated with Striga. She had been selectively exposed to the darker aspects of humanity, and had seen a fair share of greed and hatred from Hector’s kind. While it was centuries since she contained breath, she could not forget the torture of a past life. Although she wasn’t yet sold on Hector, he showed something different. He appeared to show an understanding of his place in the world, with no desire to break the laws of nature. Complacent, but respectable. _Maybe he’ll be somewhat useful_ Striga concluded as she entered her bedroom. Morana had wanted a quick session to help her relax before seeing Lenore again at the council meeting.

Ironically, Striga felt like she needed it more than Morana.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isaac had bolted out of the door and began pacing towards the open field that made up the center of the neighborhood. Instead of being packed with a variety of makeshift musicians and elders, today it was occupied by a group of children playing soccer. Isaac immediately turned towards a side street, taking the same road as he had done when going to the merchant.

After a couple of steps, he felt a hardened straw ball pelt his backside. He snapped out of his daze and turned to his right- Lucy was nervously standing in front of him. The kids had stopped playing and were watching her with anticipation.

“I’m sorry! It was an accident.” Lucy apologized sheepishly, looking at the ground. Isaac stared at her with a cold gaze.

“You should be more careful next time” Isaac responded as he grabbed the ball in his hand and kneeled so that he was at eye level with her. Lucy grabbed the ball from his hands apprehensively as they locked eyes.

“T-Thank you…” Lucy muttered as Isaac stood up and walked away. Before he could make a couple of more steps, he heard her frail voice again

“D-D-Do you wanna play with us?”

Isaac turned around and gave her a flabbergasted look. _Was this little girl really going to ask a forgemaster to play soccer with her and her friends?_

“I do not play ball.” Isaac said curtly

“Oh, come on!” Another girl’s voice spoke, this one far more confident. Isaac redirected his attention to her.

A chorus of various voices followed

“Yeah! Come on!”

“Please? It’ll be fun!”

“Yeah, Lucy says you’re really strong!”

Isaac found himself cornered by 6 kids, each one assaulting him with pleas. _Which kid was the leader? What purpose does this serve?_

After several bouts of crudely executed persuasion, Isaac finally caved in

 _I suppose there’s no harm in playing one game_ Isaac reasoned as the kids looked at him with pleading eyes. He did offer to repay Samantha earlier for her hospitality- perhaps he can start by accepting her daughter’s wishes. Maybe this will also help ease his mind… the walk can wait.

“One game.”

He was met with cheers and laughter. He had felt a pith of warmth creep up in his heart, basking in the small validation he had just received. He released a tiny smile and walked with them towards the field.

“You know how to play, right?” one of the kids asked as they reached the center of the field, his right foot now resting on the ball

“Not quite..” Isaac admitted, slightly embarrassed.

“Its easy! So you kick the ball between the two wooden spikes. That’s it.” The kid said unfazed as he motioned his hands to a pair of shoddy teak spikes planted into the ground. They were about 4 feet tall, a fitting pair of thumbs in a dull green field.

“I’ll watch for a bit and then join” He wasn’t about to embarrass himself in front of these kids, he needed to understand the rules of the game.

After watching a couple of rounds and understanding the basic mechanics, Isaac finally joined in. His height and speed proved that the kids were no match for him, but he expected that. Despite this obvious advantage, Isaac did not hold back. He flew past each child seamlessly, a gust of wind breezing through an assortment of pillars. The goalie proved no match for him, he somersaulted the ball over the kid’s head as back flipped past the goalposts . Soon he began scoring in the double digits, claiming total dominance of the ball for the next 20 minutes. He felt alive, fueled by a rush of adrenaline and glory. Once the score was 17-0, Lucy and her friends charged towards Isaac, throwing all rules aside and pouncing on him like a herd of cheetahs on a wildebeest.

Isaac was taken aback as the group of kids started to wrestle with him. They had gotten tired of him scoring all the time, and had decided to team up to stop him from scoring all together. Isaac burst out laughing as he struggled to move the ball further, wrestling off the kids as he trudged towards the goalpost.

Isaac eventually gave up and forfeited, causing an eruption of cheers and high fives from the kids. He laid on the field laughing from shock and exhilaration, he hadn’t had this much fun in years. As the laughter died down, one of the kid’s mother walked over to the field and signaled to her son that lunch was ready. This symbolically ended the soccer match, as the group began to disbar and go back to their respective homes. Lucy began walking back until she remembered to thank Isaac for playing with her. She turned back and faced him, his lanky body was sprawled on the grass like a specter.

“Thanks for playing with us” Lucy smiled

“Of course.” Isaac sat up and returned the smile, brushing the blades of grass off his tunic. Lucy skipped back inside.

Isaac remained in the middle of the field. His hands glided against the untrimmed grass, his black shirt was stained with green. He stared at the cloudless sky and was lost in the crisp shade of blue that spanned from the horizons. A gentle breeze tickled his nose as it carried a distant scent of jasmine, a spell of freshness that complimented the summer air. A deeper sense of warmth glowed within him as he absorbed the simplicity of the moment. He was at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've found that, for now, 2 week intervals seem to be the best for me. It gives me time to think of content and edit it without feeling rushed. In addition to this, it gives me a sense of urgency to get things done.
> 
> Let me what you all think of it.
> 
> Next update will be between May 28-May 31st
> 
> Cheers!


	6. Relics of the Past

Isaac laid on the field for a few more minutes before finally rising to brush the blades of grass off his tunic. The day was beautiful; the atmosphere was tranquil. He had rarely felt at peace, let alone in the presence of humans. The crisp blue sky was in harmony with the crimson roofs of the houses, and the paddling of feet beneath them. Villagers walked around him, crawling through the streets like ants on a field. Their combined voices simply blurs of happiness, shock, anger, love- a conglomeration of feelings too muddled for Isaac to isolate. He felt complacently insignificant, a microcosm of a greater system he was usually too pained to see. Instead of silencing these revelations, Isaac let them scream in full intensity- a luxury given by his security of the moment. He began to walk towards the town square, immersed in the rhythm of the city.

He had been meaning to see more of Admont before being asked to play with Lucy and her friends. He was intrigued by its varied architecture, and the maze of streets that complimented its lack of uniformity. The various shades of crimson tiles of the roofs contrasted with the white washed walls gave way to an antiquated scenery, its artistic origins reminiscent of Ancient Rome. Surprisingly, the occasional gothic settlements only added to the uniqueness of the town, it was evident that this region was influenced by a southern mother and a northern father.

He weaved his way through the streets of Admont, passing through the scattered buildings and narrow alleyways, his feet pounding against the cold cobblestone. Villagers passed through him innocently, in agreement with his experiences. The day was still young; he was confident that he would be able to see most of it before dusk. His first order of business was the mighty gothic chapel that sat in the empty city square. Its looming spires cast an authoritative shadow over the forge master as he glided towards it. _Interesting, I wonder the markets are closed today_ he thought, expecting a crowd like the one he experienced the day before. The silence felt eerie, he strangely longed the company of the vendors and customers. As he made his way towards the large oak doors of the chapel, he placed a smooth hand on the handle and tried to push the door wide open. **Locked**. _Perhaps another day_ he concluded as he took a few steps back and analyzed the details of the walls, carvings of demons and gargoyles pierced by angels. Images of churches he razed as Dracula’s general entered his mind-relics of a time eons ago. How ironic was fate in that now he walked amongst these churches with intent to admire, instead of consume? Isaac’s relationship with religion was a mercurial one, reconciliation was a recent development. As his mind trailed to the destruction of Targoviste, Greshet, a far more harrowing memory resurfaced, rearing its ugly head from the dark corners of neglect.

_What shall we do if for some reason you do not return?…._

The demon philosopher

_…Travel to this city and burn it to the ground. Leave no survivors or remnants that anything existed here._

The promise. The empire he had sworn to build.

Isaac felt an anchor drop in his stomach, past transgressions came with a cold welcome. How could he have forgotten the real reason why he came to Admont? Most importantly, how did he forget the pact he swore to his minions mere days ago? For all he knew, they could be on their way to avenge him, upholding the promise he imposed on them. Had he done the same?

He turned his back on the chapel and curtailed back to Samantha’s house with dire urgency, ignoring the confused expressions of the citizens he dodged with blinding speed. There was not a minute to waste, he needed to know how long his stay was in Admont.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dusk in Styria. The sun had begun setting over a cloudless day, seemingly worlds away. The icy winds were peaking, gashing against the cold walls of the castle. Inside the warm and opulent council chamber, three of the four rulers were gathered around the oval table. Carmilla came first and imposed an authoritative stance towards the doorway, she had intended to establish a dominating presence early and effectively. When Morana and Striga entered minutes later, she walked over to the cabinet and poured them both wine glasses of blood before acknowledging them. Striga begrudgingly placed her glass on the table, not bothering to take a sip. Morana knew this was a subtle power play by Carmilla, but gulped down the glass in a matter of seconds anyway. She needed a drink, and knew that the meeting today would require Carmilla’s leadership- she was the only one pissed enough to execute it properly.

Not a word was spoken between the three, the glances they exchanged were enough to reach mutual understanding of their roles in the upcoming meeting. They had advanced to body language as a way of achieving perfect sync- a deadly strategy reserved in dire situations. Several minutes later, the clock struck 8:00, and Lenore burst into the room. Her cool face shifted to disappointment when she realized that she was the last one there. She had also intended to arrive first.

“Either my clock isn’t working or you all are early!” Lenore joked as she glided through the room. Carmilla exchanged glares with Morana, both displaying a look of contempt. Striga blankly stared at the cabinet, it was the object furthest from her field of vision from Lenore.

“Well, I suppose there’s no time for jokes at this hour” Lenore remarked nervously, sensing the tension in the room. Something was off, she knew it by how coordinated their movements were. Her entrance usually sparked some acknowledgement, but today she wasn’t even blessed with proper eye contact. She scanned the room from sister to sister, hoping that one would look in her direction. Her theory was proven correct when her endeavor had failed. _Something is definitely wrong_ she concluded. She stood silently, anxiously waiting for a break in the silence.

“Carmilla, have you thought of any new modifications to the plan?” Morana asked nonchalantly, shifting the tension and directing her attention to Carmilla. Striga’s composure reanimated, as if she had been released from a spell of stone. The whole scene was jarring to Lenore, _What the hell?_ She thought. Her instincts told her to dismissively look at the table, and avoid locking eyes with the queen. The blatant animosity dissipated any assertiveness she brought to the room. She had a bad gut feeling that she would be on the defensive.

“No, everything is in full circle, assuming everyone does their parts. Speaking of which, Striga, how’s the _forge-bitch_? Did you whip him into shape?” Carmilla smirked, hoping her comment would irritate Lenore. The diplomat knew the queen was baiting her, but her lack of support from the sisters had stunned her beyond retaliation. She continued to stare at the table- her confidence too frail to fight for her lover.

If Striga held any amusement from Carmilla’s remark, her face did not display it. Her demeanor remained stoic, her glare icy. She continued to ignore Lenore as well.

“Hector is fine… As a matter of fact, I don’t think he is the same boy you met in Dracula’s castle.”

Carmilla furrowed her eyebrows in calculated bewilderment, her head twerked upward in an interrogating fashion.

“Oh, _is that so_?”

Striga did not flinch. She knew that this was a conversation orchestrated to strip Lenore of any control of the forge master. She had no interest playing politics, Morana had begged her all night to play along- _Carmilla would do all of the work_ she had moaned in her usual seductive way. Striga grimaced ever so slightly, her disdain slightly palpable despite her ingrained stoicism.

“Yes, I do. He seems to show some signs of maturity. I would not be opposed to the suggestion of having him sit in on some less important meetings.”

Morana cocked her head towards Striga in artificial surprise.

Carmilla’s face dropped, her glass nearly following. She appeared too dumbstruck to formulate a response. _Striga was actually advocating for a human? I can’t believe it!_ She told herself- she wasn’t as good as an actor as Morana. She had to be as authentic as possible if she had wanted to trick Lenore.

Lenore’s face reanimated, a flicker of hope arose in her heart as her ability to see the manipulation was clouded. She shot up, desperate to capitalize on the silence, and directed her attention to Carmilla, piping up

“See! I told you he-“

“Last time I checked he refused to forge for me. What benefit does council from a human give us Striga? Don’t tell me he’s fucked you too” Carmilla quipped at Striga, continuing to blatantly ignore Lenore. Carmilla’s tone indicated that she was still in shock, her voice wavering between accusatory and curiosity. However, Carmilla had intended to steal Lenore’s thunder and rob her of any dialogue between the three. Lenore’s eyes darted amongst Morana and Striga, pleading for acknowledgement. She was an expert in dealing with a bad hand, but she had never prepared herself to use her skills against her sisters. She felt powerless, her love for her sisters and her limited role in the quartet had been cruelly taken advantage of.

“I am not sure what happened between you and Hector, but he seemed respectful when I dropped off the bodies. He even began forging right away. I would appreciate regular reports on his forging.” Striga followed, clearly displaying her loyalty to Carmilla over Lenore.

She was now physically isolated from them as they moved together to formed a closed group, blocking her from the conversation. She remained across the oval table.

Morana chimed in

“If Striga seems to be having luck with him, why doesn’t he just report to Striga on all matters of affair? It would save us all the headache. Plus, I think Striga can connect with him the most, she the best sister to work with him.”

Lenore felt a _pang_ in her gut, sucker punched by Morana’s words.

“ _Plus… I think Striga can connect with him the most”_

_“She’s the best sister to work with him…”_

Lenore wasn’t sure whether Morana meant to phrase it the way she did, but that statement pierced her like a searing tong. How dare Morana suggest that Striga, the least empathetic of the four, would be the best fit for Hector?

 _I can connect with him the most._ She thought bitterly, her face becoming evidently upset.

Carmilla had noticed Lenore’s shift in attitude, and felt an orgasm of twisted joy. Carmilla smirked at Morana blatantly enough for even Lenore to notice. The queen was cocking her verbal fists for a killing blow.

“Why Morana- _That’s a great idea_ … Do you oppose, Striga?” Carmilla said slowly and meticulously, drawing out the pain as long as she could, hoping that her words would carve out the rest of Lenore’s psyche like a slow knife to a fresh wound. Striga shrugged her shoulders indifferently, choosing to ignore the nuances of the situation. Her part was over.

“No, I wouldn’t mind. He seems interesting.”

Lenore had to find her confidence and fight for Hector. She had Carmilla insult him once today, and she couldn’t bear the thought of having him be mistreated by Striga. Hector was his, and only his. How dare they take away the man she spent weeks taking care of? They hadn’t even had the fucking decency to help build his home, let alone plan it. The idea of them taking credit for her work lit a fuse in every fiber of her being. Lenore gathered any remaining courage she had and projected it in a last ditch effort at the queen at full force, her voice bursting to a volume that filled the room. Her arms slammed across the table, adding to the cinematic grandeur of her entrance. To the diplomat, this moment embodied a do or die.

“I THINK I SHOU-“

“Morana, how’s the supply of bodies? Are we getting enough villagers from the provinces?” Carmilla cut in sharply, brushing off Lenore’s attempt to regain the upper hand. The killing blow was delivered. She knew she had won the moment Morana dropped the suggestion, the rest was child’s play. Carmilla rarely won against Lenore, so she had no intention of playing nice this time. It had worked, Morana and Striga did not even flinch towards Lenore’s direction. Carmilla had cut out Lenore effectively. Morana played along, acting as if she had only heard the queen. Lenore stood dumbstruck, how could they ignore her so blatantly? _What the fuck?_

“We are ok on supplies. However, we seem to be having a greater shortage than usual…”

The words faded from Lenore as face flushed and her ears rang from the rush of fury. She couldn’t listen to this conversation any longer. This interaction must have been maliciously calculated for the sole purpose of disrespecting her. She knew why they were shutting her out- they were upset that she took away any ability for them to torture Hector. They had now ganged up on her and took away any sense of dignity the diplomat carried. She felt violated, powerless, hopeless in that room- amongst the women who claimed to love her the most.

Lenore stormed out of the room towards the outdoors, back turned from the three. She needed to take a deep breath in the cold air before she made any rash decisions.

Once she was outside, she walked towards an isolated corner of the main garden, a patch of snowy grass covered by a lone pine resting against the castle walls. She loved this area because it was the only place where guards didn't bother to check, and the only area where she truly felt that she could be herself, away from it all. Moments like this pulled her to be free from Styria, away from her confining position of power. The responsibility had put her in an enduring position of emotional compromise, robbing her heart of freedom, slowly suffocating the fire that burned so brightly centuries ago. The night was late, and dawn was beginning to encroach on the horizon. She lifted her head towards the night sky, gazed at the stars for comfort, and inhaled sharply, letting the tears pour over her face as they froze in the icy winds.

 _I want to see Hector_ she cried- she would rather face Dracula before she let the sisters take him away from her.

Carmilla and Morana, exchanged satisfactory glances as they watched Lenore storm out of the room, Striga darkly furrowed her brow, staring at the floor.

“You shouldn’t have been so malicious about it, Carmilla” Morana teased in a half serious way once the moment settled. She had calculated the fall out of today’s meeting, but was still disappointed by the queen’s execution. She felt a smidge of sympathy of Lenore, quickly replaced by the sentiment that today was justified.

“ **You** suggested it, Morana” Carmilla quipped back, smiling as she took a swig from her glass

“I wanted to let her know that she is not going to be the lone sister calling the shots. Your plan included calling him a forge bitch and orchestrating a fake conversation to make her cry. _You know she’s a sensitive one_ , she’s not like us.”

Carmilla paused for a moment, a flicker of compassion ripped across her face before it was replaced by smugness.

“Oh Morana, you know that she gets possessive about her pets! Remember the time she killed the guard for feeding a fly to her spider? Or the time she tried to bring a dove in and wouldn’t let anyone even see it? _I had to put her in her place_. Before you’d know it, we wouldn’t even be able to see the army!”

Morana’s lips curled in agreement, she couldn’t argue against Carmilla’s logic. Lenore’s track record with pets were a nightmare. She had been obsessive, possessive, and overbearing to the point where it had caused nothing but headaches for the sisters. Carmilla was right- end the exclusivity between Lenore and Hector quickly but firmly, and save them all a future of inconvenience. Hector was not a pet they could take chances on, he was imperative to the success of this conquest. If that meant crushing Lenore’s infatuation and short lived happiness, so be it.

“…. When do you think she’ll get over it?” Morana mused, twirling the remaining droplets of blood in her glass.

“… I’d give it a week. Next meeting, we’ll act as if nothing had happened and we’ll ease her way back into the group.” Carmilla brushed off nonchalantly

“Fair enough. Do we have any other business to attend to, or was today just to break her down?” The second part of the sentence was slightly accusatory in nature. Carmilla paid no mind, she enjoyed being the bitch in this situation.

“Good question... I suppose we could go about normal business. So Striga, how’s the supply chain?” Carmilla was trying her best to sound interested. She had already achieved her objective for the day, what remained of this meeting was simply fluff to satisfy Striga.

Striga answered, relieved that this meeting was not limited to petty squalor. She, on the other hand, had actual matters to discuss.

“Well, there has been scout reports of night creatures terrorizing the villagers.”

The queen’s ears perked up, her indifference dissipated instantaneously. Night creatures were not common around these parts.

“Night Creatures? From where?”

“We think that they are coming from the city controlled by the wizard. The one we pledged to leave alone. Whether they are definitively from that city, we do not know. The scouts never made it past the outer walls.”

Carmilla did not understand. Belshazzar, the wizard that was building a city several days ride from the castle, was from the Eastern Mediterranean and had settled a deal with them to not harass other cities in the region, and provide generous yearly tithes to the queen. The deciding factor in the sisters’ agreement with his settlement was that his spells were useless on vampires, providing them powerful leverage against the spell caster. If he ever strayed from his bargain or forgot to pay a tithe, he knew that the queen would come violently marching on his doorstep. Frankly, Carmilla was puzzled by his stupidity to break a generous contract.

“ _That city?”_ I don’t think wizards can even do that type of magic..? Either way, he violated our deal.”

Morana was not convinced that he was responsible. It was a generous contract, and his profile didn’t match. She remembered his grizzled beard, his robes that stunk of mold- the memory of his decrepit body tainting the bridge on which he had met to discuss with them sent chills down her spine. After his proposal, she had diligently done her homework on him, knew his strengths and spell capabilities- hoping to find a reason to kill the man outright. She wrote up a list of strategic liabilities that a neighboring wizard would pose, and not one of those liabilities were the presence of night creatures. As much as she wanted to kill him, the facts didn’t line up, there had to be another source of this nuisance.

“Carmilla, I don’t think the wizard is at fault. When I considered him, he had no forging capabilities.” She spoke definitively

“Well, what could it possibly be then? We do a routine check of the region every 2 weeks Morana. Night creatures don’t just pop out of nowhere, and we have reports of night creatures from his city. He’s only been in Styria for a month, how do you know he’s not able to forge? Either way, he’s creepy and he smells like shit. We don’t need his tithes now that we’re taking on the world.”

“Carmilla has a point. He’s the only logical cause.” Striga agreed

“…Do you think it could be Isaac, the other forge master?” Morana blurted out. She had no idea how such a thought materialized in her mind, let alone left her mouth _Where the hell did that come from?_ She thought. The idea was ridiculous; how did it pass her filter? She hoped Carmilla would shut the idea down and ease her fears. She was seldom prone to such slips, but when they came they were horrendous.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous Morana! If he didn’t perish alongside Dracula, which I’m positive he did, he would be thousands of miles away. Plus, he and Hector hated each other. He has no reason to rescue him.” Carmilla shot back incredulously, taken off guard by such a theory. _There’s no way he survived._ She concluded in her head.

“Either way, we need to do something about this, Carmilla.” Striga resumed, veering the topic back on track. Striga was not interested in theoreticals- she needed a solution, now.

“Well why don’t we send in an army to take the city?” Carmilla offered

“Only problem, is that we may lose valuable soldiers reclaiming a city. Ones we will need in Braila” Striga countered

The room was silent as the sisters were in deep contemplation. They were undermanned and time was valuable. They could not risk losing more soldiers to mitigate an issue like this, they had lost most of their army in Dracula’s war. They had to find an easy fix that would cause minimal losses. Carmilla began to form an idea- its logic growing as it cultivated in her mind. By the time it left her mouth and entered the room, it made perfect sense to her.

“Why don’t we send in Striga?” Carmilla offered

“What…?” It came as a shock to Morana. A brash endeavor. The suggestion left her uneasy, a knot began to form in her stomach.

“Yes, Striga. She’s practically a mini army herself! Send in Striga with about 50 soldiers and take the damn city. It’s only two day’s ride, right?” Carmilla argued, her attention redirecting to the warrior. Striga’s face remained stoic, but the way Striga’s shoulders dropped confirmed to Carmilla that she shared this logic. Striga had a similar solution in mind.

“Carmilla has a point. We can save valuable soldiers if I clear the city myself. Plus, I doubt that it will be more than a nuisance.”

The knot in Morana’s stomach grew, its discomfort visibly displaying itself on her face. Morana never questioned Striga’s missions, but this one felt far riskier than usual. A sense of dread washed over her as the thought of Striga not returning entered her mind. This was a foreign feeling to her, making it even more worrisome.

“I don’t know… I don’t have a good feeling about this” Morana wavered, her granite composure cracking under her doubts.

Carmilla didn’t care. She had the approval of the only sister in the room that mattered. She knew that once she convinced Striga to do something, Morana was rarely able to change it. Why did Morana care? Striga had found far deadlier foes than wizards and night creatures, what could possibly be the consequences?

Carmilla stared down at Striga, a queen to her golden knight. Her tone was solemn and final.

“Striga, how soon are you able to leave the castle?”

“I can leave the day after tomorrow if we have the soldiers.” Striga responded, ignoring Morana’s pleas.

Carmilla smiled valiantly, her glass empty and her arms crossed.

“We do. Let’s plan for a full out assault on the bastard’s city and bring any bodies back here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Samantha! How long have I stayed here?!”

  
Isaac had reached her in record breaking time, his breath had not yet fully recovered. The panting and the urgency in Isaac’s voice startled Samantha as she dropped the broom she used to sweep the floor. She had never seen Isaac display any sort of emotion or urgency in his short time with her- his intensity was worrisome.

“Why… I think only three or four days?” Samantha answered unsurely as she held her breath- she was not the keenest at keeping track of time, his paralyzing effect hardly remedied this flaw. This answer only made him more impatient. His face tinged a soft red as he grabbed her shoulders.

“Which was it?! three or four?!” Isaac was in full interrogation mode. Samantha’s life was in danger, he needed concrete answers. As Samantha shrunk even further and began to shake in terror, Isaac realized that he had gone too far. He slouched his shoulders, relaxed his demeanor, and asked her again in a soothing tone. He that hoped there was still a chance for her to remember.

“I apologize, what I mean to say is that I am trying to see how long I have been in this city.”

Samantha slightly regained her composure and looked at Isaac with worrying eyes. She had no idea what came about Isaac, clueless to the reason for his urgency. She scrambled her memory and salvaged the best answer she could.

“I think it was four. Why do you ask?”

Her answer lacked confidence. _Was it four? Or was it actually five?_

Isaac made no response, his face turned to deep contemplation. He could tell Samantha to leave the city and never return while he razed Admont. However, this idea did not sit well in his mind. The city had treated him with kindness, the villagers, the onion merchant, had shown nothing but kindness. Isaac was strangely compelled to reverse the judgement he had dealt on these villagers. He had to find a way to stop this attack, to save the lives of the women who have saved his. It was almost intuitive to the forge master, despite how different it was.

_I have 6 days to return to my demons… It is a 3 days ride, but I have no horse… Should I stay in Admont and meet them at the gates? Or should I ride to the city before it is too late?_

Ideas flooded his mind. What if the city realizes that he is a forge master? Surely he would be doomed, and Samantha would follow. He could not meet his demons in Admont. What if he rode back and stopped their attack before they rode out? This would work, but timing was short- he was doubtful of his ability to reach the city in time. In addition to this, he had no idea in which direction to travel, the distance mirror had not provided him with a map of the region. What if he waited several miles outside the city, and intercepted the horde before they were visible to the city? This was risky- he could not anticipate the direction in which they would arrive. His only hope was to make a calculated risk, and camp outside the city for the next few days. It was riskier than Isaac would have liked, but it was his only option.

“Samantha, I need to leave the city tomorrow.”

The answer shocked Samantha, his message was abrupt, with no context to his motivations.

“Tomorrow? Is something wrong?”

Isaac could not tell Samantha the truth. He had developed a soft spot for the woman, and now feared of putting her in danger. He knew that humans made brash decisions when frightened; he couldn’t place such a fate on her. His plan was simple, he was to enjoy one last dinner with Samantha and Lucy, and leave by daybreak. He hoped to one day tell Samantha the intent of his departure, hoped to see her again. But now, he had to save her and her daughter’s life, and secrecy was of the essence.

“I must return to where I came from.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a hard one- especially Isaac's part. Was concerned about the pacing of it- felt like it was too short. Let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Next update will be between June 15-18th!


	7. The Demon Philosopher

The cabin was lonely amidst the windy night. Hector had spent all night forging demons from the pile that Striga had gave him the day before. Calluses started to appear on his soft hands, and blood soaked into his pores like sweat. He didn’t mind this. As a matter of fact, it made him feel more alive.

More connected to his work.

He cleaned the bench with a wet cloth, then did a thorough wiping of the stone floors, leaving no stain behind. It helped him feel complete with the day, he hated returning to a dirty forge.

As he walked back to the kitchen, he noticed that the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon. _That’s unusual, Lenore should have visited me already_ he thought as he walked towards the fridge and began preparing himself beef stew leftovers from the night before. Perhaps the meeting went on late? He grabbed a bottle of wine from one of the cabinets and began to pour himself a glass to accompany the stew. He had to admit, Lenore had converted him into a subtle alcoholic. The past few days he had been sampling the variety of wines that Lenore generously placed in his kitchen, he was even a bit intoxicated when he forged some of the demons during lunchtime.

He grabbed an extra glass for Lenore, hoping that she would arrive after he poured her glass.

The passage on the forgemaster’s blood had given him a brilliant idea, a way for him to escape the tyranny of the sisters. He was familiar with the effects of opiates, the good, the bad, and the ugly. While the effects of them were wondrous, the relapse was disastrous, leaving many slaves to the tainted compound. He was unsure whether vampire brains worked similarly to humans, but knew he had to take a chance and see. Lenore had manipulated him with such ease and mastery, he was doubtful of his ability to gain an upper hand through traditional means. He was too honest and innocent to be a decent manipulator, let alone perform on Lenore’s level. He had to think outside the box, and break the rules of diplomacy. How could you properly negotiate something your body was dependent on? He wanted Lenore to feel the addiction he had for her when he was alone and dying in those cells, he wanted her to burn when he would deprive that from her. It was the only way he could gain any sort of advantage and play on an even field.

He sliced his right wrist and craftfully poured a tablespoon of blood into the wine, enough to elicit an effect. _Maybe Lenore will visit me later in the night_ , he reasoned as he began walked towards the bath and began to wash off the grime of the day. He was numb from the hours of forging and scheming- he preferred it that way. He hated going to bed with an active mind, as his thoughts could keep him up for hours. After a thoughtless, silent bath, he began to dress himself in grey linen pajamas. He knew that these were Lenore’s least favorite from how cumbersome they were to remove, he just wanted to sleep.

He collapsed on the silk sheets of the king bed and dozed into a dreamless slumber, his body aching from the trials of today. As he began to doze off, he began to crave Lenore’s embrace and validation once more. Unbeknownst to him, a tender spot for her remained in the jaded forge master, buried deep within his distrust.

Several hours later, Lenore slipped into the living room, covered in all black to protect her from the sun. Stepping outside during the day was risky, foolish even. One speckle of sunlight would burn her body beyond repair, she had moved slowly to conceal any openings in her outfit. However, she began to crave Hector’s presence, she felt compelled to see him; especially after Carmilla’s comments. Underneath her heavy obsidian cloak, she wore a simple nightgown- a far cry from the extravagant dresses she would typically don. Her hair was tangled, and her nails were unpainted, revealing a far more vulnerable Lenore than Hector had been accustomed to. She consciously hoped that he would be asleep during this hour, she only came to sleep next to him. Unconsciously, she had hoped he was still awake to see her like this, waiting for her patiently at the kitchen table.

As she walked over the kitchen countertop she noticed a single glass of wine, poured just for her. _How sweet of him._ she smiled as she took a sip, savoring every bit of the gesture he had given her. A feeling of warmth and ease rushed down her body as she finished the wine, eliciting a sense of peace and tranquility. The previous two hours of crying were erased from her memory, and the despair of the meeting was washed away. She stopped mid glass, _Is that blood?!_ She wondered as she began to sniff the wine. She couldn’t mistake the taste of it, no other compound could give her body such a rush of vitality and strength. It was subtle, but she could feel it clearly. Blood had a silky, creamy quality to it, this vintage of this Cabernet was too earthy to contain such qualities.

She swirled the wine carefully,

Analyzing it.

_This is some good wine_ she concluded as she tiptoed to Hector’s bedroom. _There’s no way this wine has blood in it. I must be more tired than I thought!_ she laughed. He was sprawled face down over the bed, his gentle breaths like waves in a peaceful sea. Her heart warmed as she sat on the edge of the bed and began to pet his silver locks, gazing at him admirably. _Look how peaceful he looks. How could someone hurt such a thing?_ She wondered, her mind trailing back to Carmilla and Striga. She began to imagine Striga threatening to kill Hector as he struck his hammer faster and faster, Carmilla torturing puppies in front of him as she demanded his absolute loyalty. She visualized Hector’s face in despair, gruesomely pulling out his gorgeous hair as a pile of bodies piled over him. Another reality creeped into her mind. She saw Carmilla manipulating Hector, feeding him lies while laughing about it during the council chambers, him being oblivious to her malice. She would be unable to save him, watching him abandon her as he fell for a woman who had tried to get him killed.

Tears began to form as these possibilities felt inevitable. She felt Hector slipping away from her with each passing moment, this blissful night being the last before he was cruelly snatched by the confines of callous women.

She crawled into bed behind him and wrapped her arms around him affectionately, placing her lips on his ears and whispering

“Hector… Its me”

Hector stirred but did not move, Lenore had placed him in a bear grip. In this moment, she was unaware of her own strength against him.

“Hmm…” he muttered as he began to doze off again. He was relieved to have her there beside him, he smiled as he began to drift into a deeper sleep than before.

“Hector, I need you to promise me something” Lenore asked as her voice quivered, fighting back the tears. She was too preoccupied with her fears to be aware that Hector was too tired to reply. Hector’s consciousness was slipping away further and further.

“Hmm..?” He was now beginning to think he was dreaming, he would forget everything come nightfall

“Carmilla, Morana, and Striga… Remember how they treated you when you were in the cells. They may come with warm arms and kind words, but remember who saved you.”

The words passed him like a gentle gust of wind. Lenore grew weary at his lack of response

“Please, Hector. You promised that you would be loyal to me. I need your loyalty more than ever now… Please.” She begged as she pressed her face into the back of his tunic, her tears dampening it.

“Hmmm… Okay…” Hector agreed, lucid enough to understand that Lenore had given him a request, but not enough to know what it was.

“Thank you.” She cried as she quietly bawled into his tunic, her arms tightening around him to uncomfortable proportions. Hector squirmed for breath, choking under the vicegrip of her compassion. After several seconds of him gasping for air, she embarrassingly loosened her embrace, allowing Hector to fall asleep once more. For all she knew, this could be the last peaceful sleep he would ever get. She wanted to enjoy every moment of it After an hour of interplay between comfort and pain, she fell asleep as well, even more spent than him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isaac ran through the gates of Admont amidst the break of sunrise, the clouds had whispered to him that they were only here for the morning, and that Mother Nature would yield him a cloudless, beautiful day. His feet moved at breakneck speed, having been accustomed to sprinting in blistering heat, and scorching summers. The cold climate of Styria had given his endurance a deadly advantage. He left through the northern gates towards a small hill about a mile and a half away from Admont, its peak level with the highest tower of the city.

Amidst the barren grey fields, the modest hill stood out like a green thumb- sprinkled with patches of grass and dandelions. It was a strategic location due to its view of the city. Admont’s western and southern walls were covered in mountains, leaving the northeast exposed to the fields. The hill stood exactly a mile out from this corner, at the junction, giving Isaac perfect view of both directions. He was clueless on which direction they would arrive, but had the vantage point to see them far before they reached the city. Demons traveled slowly when in large groups, and Isaac had the benefit of speed.

However, the hill held another purpose apart from its vantage point, a more symbolic one.

This was where Vytas lay, his tombstone a small boulder in the center. Isaac had acquired this information from Samantha after a sincere farewell- he felt compelled to pay his respects as a token of gratitude to the woman. She had scoffed and stated that it was merely a symbolic rock instead of a grave, Isaac realized upon reaching it that it wasn’t a humble sentiment. Crude and shallow engravings marked his name amidst a four foot boulder, its positioning slightly off center from the peak of the hill. It was a well intentioned job from an unskilled craftsman, something even Lucy could have done. _Perhaps it was Lucy who engraved his name?_

Such questions were better left unanswered.

His hand glided over the boulder as he pondered his fellow forgemaster’s journey.

_What had Vytas been like, and what caused him to leave this earth amidst a family?_

_Did he love Samantha?_

_Or was it an attempt to live a normal life?_

Forgemasters never married, nor fell in love. The connection to hell had made even the warmest of them sociopaths, a byproduct of the hate they endured in their lives and their detached roles in humanity.

He suddenly wondered what became of Hector.

Did he fall in love with the redhead that Isaac saw in the distance mirror?

Or was it his way of attempting to live a normal life and feel human?

Isaac had hoped for the former, Hector had always shared softer sentiments when they were in Dracula’s court. However, he knew what the sisters were doing to Hector. He saw the torture the man endured, and felt uneasy about the misplaced kindness he witnessed from the redhead. Due to this, he feared for the latter.

His mind trailed back upon his own journey, and realized that he wasn’t always like this. He had wanted to hope for someone, anyone, to treat him with the slightest bit of loyalty. He found himself straying towards the crueler fate that many forgemasters were victim to, set upon the extinction of humanity as a way of coping against the evils brought to them by the world.

Had anything changed?

Was he the same Isaac as before?

He didn’t think so.

The difference in him now was that he was beginning to realize that humanity may have some redeemable qualities. While he wasn’t convinced that humanity was ultimately good, he knew that the good of humanity was worth preserving, however scarce it may be.

His mind trailed to nostalgic possibilities, his watchful eyes providing a protective gaze amidst the women he cared about. He crouched on the hill and unpacked a piece of bread that Samantha had provided him for his travels, another act of gratitude that came unsought.

Time passed as he mused about these possibilities, resting against the boulder and gazing out towards Admont. He envisioned himself as a sentinel, an anonymous protector of a worthy city.

If demons would come, they would be caught far before they reached the gates.

All he had to do was wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seemingly a world away, the same sun shared its brilliant rays across the icy peaks of Styria. Remnants of the cold night were burned away by the glory of the morning. It was summer in the North, or at least as close to it as one can imagine. The temperature was barely above freezing, and the trees were still fruitless save for the hardy pines. For the villagers, it would have been an excellent day to relax and count the blessings of a beautiful Mother Nature. For the rulers, it would have yielded a sound night sleep amidst pitch black chambers.

And the rulers were asleep

Carmilla lay naked in her bed, spent from an intense fucking with her fling of the week.

Lenore clutched Hector, tightly like a child to a teddy bear, her tears dried by the cotton bedsheets.

Striga was sprawled over a king bed composed of iron, like a lion resting after a fearless day of the hunt.

Every vampire in the castle was resting peacefully

Except Morana.

She had tossed and turned for hours, ravaged by a maelstrom of fear and doubt. These nights came few and far between, but when they did they typically ruined the entire week for Morana. Luckily Striga was a heavy sleeper- Morana’s movements were crude and noisy. In a final attempt to comfort herself from the blows of unease, Morana had horded all of the silk sheets, and spun them around her like a cocoon of fuchsia. A physical armor to protect herself from mental blows, a noble attempt destined for futility. It was her mechanism of coping with the simmering unease that pervaded her heart.

She was mortified about sending Striga to confront the wizard

Something felt wrong, felt off.

She didn’t know whether it was the wizard that frightened her, or the task itself.

There had to be a reason why their vampire soldiers had failed to grasp any intel on the situation. Either the wizard was killing them, or the soldiers had seen something too terrifying for noble ears to receive.

“Striga, my love…” She murmured as she gently pushed Striga awake. She had concluded that confrontation was the only way to ease these fears. The chances of reaching a resolution were slim, Striga was the most stubborn of the sisters. However, Morana knew that she had to take her chances. The slumbering lion groaned as it pushed her lover’s hand away- it had more comfortable manners to attend to.

“Please… its important…” Morana pleaded as her hand found its way back onto Striga’s shoulder, nudging harder. Striga reluctantly rolled over to face Morana, eyes half open, mind half working.

“What..?” she groaned

“I don’t feel good about you going to that city..” Morana reasoned with a voice that teetered between seductive and concerned.

Striga closed her eyes again, resigning from any significance she thought this conversation carried. _She woke me up for this?_

“Morana.. it’s in the middle of the day.. can we talk about it when the night comes?” she yawned as she tried to roll back to her usual position- facing away from Morana. The tactician’s hand grabbed Striga and yanked her back to the conversation, this time forcefully. Morana knew that once the night started, with Striga fully awake, she was beyond her skill to persuade. She had to do it now.

“No. This is important. Please don’t go… Send in 50 soldiers instead… We can handle the losses…”

“Morana.” Striga started as she slightly regained her senses. She propped up and faced Morana in full earnest, doing her best to look awake.

“I haven’t fought a battle in decades. You know how I feel after fighting, and this is the perfect opportunity for me to do so. The risks are low, and you know I am conservative. If I see the tide turning south, I retreat.” Striga continued, hoping this would ease her lover’s fear and put them back to bed.

“Yes, but what if you can’t retreat? You never think of the impossible, my love” Morana nuzzled her head on Striga’s chest and gazed into those dark, serious eyes. The tone became more concerned than seductive.

“I never think of the impossible because it’s just that- the impossible. You forget that you are talking to a veteran fighter, not a mere soldier” Striga sighed as she played with Morana’s hair

“I know. But still, what if you took a few of the night creatures with you? Just to be safe?”

Striga cocked her head in surprise, her hand paused. The purpose of this invasion was to increase the supply of bodies necessary to create night creatures. Using night creatures as fodder to make more night creatures was simply illogical. Was Morana sleep talking?

“Bring night creatures when the purpose of invading this city was to create more night creatures? Go to sleep Morana… We can talk about this when your mind is more clear” Striga concluded as she affectionately stroked Morana’s hair before resuming her old sleeping position.

“Please… Striga…!” Morana pleaded as she attempted to bring Striga back into the conversation, her hands desperately grasping Striga’s mighty torso

“Tomorrow, my love…” Striga muttered as she fell back asleep, ignoring Morana’s embrace.

Morana let go and laid on the bed, frustrated at the stubbornness of her lover as she stared at her back. Striga was lying, she did _not_ intend to have this conversation later. This was simply a way to end things without having to put up with Morana’s begging, she had been a victim to this tactic countless times before. _This was important._ How dare she brush her off? Striga may have resumed her slumber peacefully, but Morana grew even more uneasy as the day progressed to sunset.

If Striga wasn’t going to anything, she was.

Her answer was not enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Half a country away stood a half completed city overrun by demons. The laws of this city verged on anarchy, and no human remained within miles of its walls. An occasional vampire would trek and perhaps even try to steal a glance at the unfinished masonry. These drifters would be fresh meat for the demons, celebrated at sunrise before their bodies burned to ash.

In the center of the city stood a towering citadel, in which a demon philosopher rested, deep within the confines of the tombs, its lifeless eyes fixed on a twenty foot distance mirror. The embers of the opulent marble hall flickered along the weary lines of his face. His large eyes reflected the view of the mirror, fixed on the hill outside Admont.

He had seen Isaac almost perish several days ago, seen the slaughter of his fellow brothers and sisters. He had desperately tried to position the mirror to save them, but his inexperience proved his efforts futile. He spent the last few days learning to control the distance mirror, now positioning it with deadly accuracy. When he was not practicing with the mirror, he was gazing into it, analyzing each of Isaac and the sisters’ movement with cold intensity.

He was tempted to raze the nearby cities, even entertained the thought of storming Carmilla’s castle. However, he had grown too greedy in the neighboring villages, and had called the attention of the vampire lords. He doubted the army’s capacity to take on Styria alone. _No, he needed Isaac_.

He observed carefully as Isaac bonded with the humans, witnessed him ride out of the city without ending a single life. He knew what Isaac was planning, and grew fearful of his master’s change of heart. _Humans were manipulative, fickle creatures; incapable of pure altruism_. The philosopher had learned that when he was one millennia ago. There was a reason why he brought himself upon Isaac’s calling. It was now the demons’ time to rule the world, in perfect harmony and order. The philosopher could not let Isaac, their leader, fall astray from that vision. It would be a difficult lesson, but one the philosopher was compelled to teach to the young, inexperienced forge master. Isaac would thank him later.

He paused and stared at that mirror for what seemed to be an eternity, until an eight foot obsidian, winged night creature entered the chambers and stood beside him, beckoning for an order. His mind was already set.

“Gather the rest of the army” The philosopher ordered as he focused the mirror on Samantha’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... Hector's motivations may have come as a shock.. Hoping that I gave some context in the previous chapters about his ambiguity towards Lenore. If it came completely out of left field let me know!  
> As always, appreciate the comments!
> 
> Didn't have time to finish editing the previous chapters yet, will plan on doing that in the near future! Probably with the next chapter update.
> 
> Next update is Between July 6-8


	8. Good Vampyre, Bad Vampyre

The night was long, and the work continued to pile on the forgemaster. As before, Hector had spent the early hours of the night forging fresh platoons of creatures destined to decimate his kind. His sweat poured on the granite table of the forge, almost in sync with the beat of the hammer. By now, his work had become almost mechanical, a cog in the Styrian wheel of conquest. A week ago, he fiddled with his tools as his hands blistered from the cold steel. His hesitations were amplified before each strike, pausing each moment to make sure he hit the heart of every corpse evenly- a misstep could yield a particularly unruly night creature. He fondly remembered his first night creature in Dracula’s castle- a bull shaped obsidian demon with wings the size of a small dragon, and the scales reminiscent of a serpent. It’s stature commanded a level of authority and pride, but it’s tortured nature proved too much for even Hector to tame. Upon waking up in the ward 2 days later, the vampire doctor told him that 7 guards had perished in killing the demon.

Ignorant, innocent times…

Now, he forged and struck each blow with deadly accuracy. There were no theoreticals in his work, no surprises at this level of skill. Hector knew exactly what creature would arise from each corpse, and the power each one carried. He was not only more predictable, but also faster. What originally took 30 minutes now took 15. His creatures benefitted from his experience too- They were quicker, stronger, _sharper_.

He had been so deep in thought that he was oblivious to Morana’s modest entry in the forge. Morana was surprised too. She had half expected Hector to be in the library, or basking in the lavishness of his new abode. Yet here he was, a slave forging with the same intensity of a free man. Morana found it admirable, and worrisome. One thing she had remembered in her past life was the passion of humankind, and the great lengths men took to see it to fruition.

She had been unfortunate enough to live through the Crusades, and experience the terror of the Templars as their passion for Christ slaughtered the lives of innocents. While her refuge in Styria saved her from the tragic fate of her father, a widower craftsman, the internal wounds outlasted her decayed human body. She had even ventured towards Satanism in her later human years, pleading the devil for retribution and judgement. Satan must have heard her cries, for one cloudy night a vampire posing as a gypsy arrived at the doorstep of her isolated hut in the forest, and granted her the power she needed to exact totality.

Now, the tortured cries of the fervent Christians of Europe, especially the men, gave her an eerie sense of satisfaction.

“Are you busy?” She finally said, her silk voice beckoning him from the corner of the forge.

Hector paused his hammer on the upstroke in surprise, his rhythm broken. He turned towards his guest, a tall, slender, graceful mistress with skin as smooth as satin. Her dark complexion complementing the warm dance of embers in the fireplace. Her gaze was inquisitive, her stature graceful. He felt relieved, _At least she has the courtesy to ask._

However, he knew that appearances were deceiving. 

“No… I’m finishing up.”

A white lie, but he felt that she would not take no for an answer. From his experience, it seemed like nobody in Styria would. Courtesies only went so far in this country.

“Good” Morana glided closer to him until she stood 6 feet from him, enough for an intimate conversation, but not too close. She wanted him to feel comfortable, her request was strictly personal. She paused carefully, calculating an unassuming opening statement, then continued.

“It's one thing to hear Striga praise your work, but seeing it myself is something else entirely.”

Hector blushed for a second and glanced at the ground, surprised at the direction that the conversation steered to. Compliments were still a foreign entity to him, considering his situation a couple of months prior.

‘Why… Thank you. I love my work” he mustered, his hands fiddling around his hammer

_He **is** like a puppy_ Morana thought incredulously

“I can imagine. It’s not every day that I get to see someone pour as much passion in their work as you do, Hector. I had my doubts, but now I see the great potential Carmilla saw within you- Although we can both agree that it was far from a smooth journey…”

Hector grimaced, memories of depravation and cold sent a flash of fury down his spine. Morana sensed that she was treading on thin water.

“From seeing your prowess in the forge, I’m sure Lenore has briefed you on all of our military plans” Morana continued innocently. Unbeknownst to Hector, this was a rhetorical question. Lenore had stormed the council chambers before Belshazzar came up.

“Uhmmm, no not really…” He flustered, his mind now preoccupied with a realization. Come to think of it, Lenore _hadn’t_ told him anything that the sisters were doing. _Were they already going on a full scale invasion?_ He knew the general background of it- forge creatures for an invasion. But details that were given to him freely in Dracula’s court were a mystery to him in this one. Moments like this reminded him of the ring Lenore had placed on him. He subconsciously massaged the ring with his thumb.

Morana sensed the shift of tone, and feigned a look of subtle shock

“ _Is that so?_ Interesting… I would have imagined that she told you _everything_ about Striga’s invasion.” Morana quipped, a calculated surprise contrasted brilliantly with her usual stern demeanor. Hector furrowed his brow in confusion. _This was going to be easy_ she concluded

“No.. I don’t suppose she has.” He coldly responded, abruptly turning around to forge again.

It was evident that he was either upset or avoiding the conversation. He hated to talk about matters that were hidden from him, let alone reminders of his slavery. His strokes became more forced, his timing crude.

Morana paused for a few moments to let the anger dissipate from the forgemaster. Carmilla had warned Morana and the sisters that Hector was a stubborn man when provoked, and Morana did not have many opportunities to visit him in secret. She waited until the hammer strokes grew softer, indicating that his fury was tempering, and circled behind him. She was now within a foot of the forgemaster, facing his back.

“I understand that Lenore may not be as forthcoming with you as you would like.”

She opened, waiting for an indication of acknowledgement. Once his movements stopped and became motionless, she continued- regardless of whether his back was turned to her or not.

“I am here to tell you that I intend to change that. Striga and I would like for you to sit with us on the council chambers. We think it’s important that you stay informed.”

Hector turned around to face the tactician, agape from the proposition given to him. He had almost wanted to pinch himself or dunk his head in ice water to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. _Why would she change her mind so suddenly?!_ Hopeful speculation swiftly turned to suspicion. He quickly remembered that she was a _vampyre_. There was always a stipulation

“And what do expect from me in return? I suppose there’s something you’re leaving out in this proposition” He said curtly. Morana’s eyes flashed in surprise, he was sharper than she or Carmilla had given him credit for. She paused for a lengthy moment, debating on whether to continue with flattery and deceit, or to take a risk and show honesty to a man that held the key to the front lines of Styria’s army, and wanted her dead at the same time.

“I must say… you do have a knack for reading between the lines.”

She sighed, arms crossed, eyes facing the floor. Hector glared at her coldly, his stance growing in power. His intuition was right, just like countless times before. Countless interactions in the courts of Styria and Wallachia had hardened him into something more of a tactician. He knew when vampires were being real, or playing with their food. Lenore had given him the skill to tell in a cruel, and efficient manner. His experiences were indeed the best teacher.

“ **Why?”**

The word threw Morana off guard. Was it a question? It sounded more like a statement, a demand. But, of what?

“Excuse me?” It wasn’t a challenge on her part, it was an inquisition.

“You knew that you could have asked me to do something, and I would have to oblige. Why would you waste your time with false courtesy when we all know what this really is.”

Morana’s head cocked back in shock. Hector continued.

“I know why. You need an army to take over all of Europe, and possibly the world. You know that the only avenue through that is me. You had Lenore seduce me into binding myself to her, hoping that my infatuation or the lavishness in my surroundings would make me comfortable with the false reality in front of me, hell, I may even enjoy it.

After giving me time to get used to my surroundings, you come in with a loaded question, expecting me to become upset at Lenore for not disclosing any plans when you may have even warned her to not tell me anyway. You then openly disagree with her and state that I should have more say in the matters of Styria, despite having nothing to do with me in the first place. You’re a busy woman, why would you waste your time walking all the way over to my cabin to tell me something any one of your sisters could tell me, and openly question the one I spend the most time with? I know, because you have something you need from me- something that you don’t want the others to know about. Look me in the eyes and tell me that’s wrong, because I’m having a hard time believing that you have suddenly changed your mind from torturing me to giving me extended privileges on the basis of my work alone. So, my question is **Why?** ”

Morana’s heart dropped, her jaw agape- her brilliant foresight had made her unaccustomed to suprises. Carmilla’s underestimated analysis of Hector proved fatally wrong. What Morana had expected was an innocent, almost childish demeanor of a man with savant abilities to forge. Lenore had manipulated him so quickly and efficiently, even enslaving the most intimate aspect of his character- his forging abilities. She had showered him with gifts soon after, granting him the best forge that the sisters could offer. She had visited him every night, Morana deduced. Any normal man would have been initially angry, yes, but soon after, happy with his circumstances- a lavish house to work in, the finest food to feast in, and the most gorgeous woman to sleep with. Yet despite this, he was still lucid to the reality of his situation. He may not have the cunning to compete against a master such as herself and Lenore, but he had a grounded level of awareness. This, Morana concluded, intimidated her far more than the possibility of the former. She had no response to his statement

“I… am sorry Hector… I do not understand the question.”

“Why do you do it? Why the games when we can just be honest about what this really is?”

Morana now understood. Hector didn’t want validation, nor appreciation for his work. Comfort and materialism were of no use to the forgemaster, he wanted authenticity- well intentioned or not. This was a relief as much as it was a concern for her, she had relied on these measures to manipulate and entice even the most hardened of human negotiators. Her capture of the eastern front of Styria even relied on bribing mercenaries! She came to the realization that no bribing would work on Hector, no form of traditional negotiation nor any incentive. She wistfully smiled, but not large enough for Hector to notice: she had realized why Striga respected him. She also grew worried for Lenore. Very worried.

“Striga wants to preserve your demons because we are limited on supply, yet she is set to ride to one of our provinces within a couple of nights. I need you to create a demon or two that is small, but agile. Able to follow her and her platoon inconspicuously, yet strong enough to hold its own if attacked.” She explained sincerely, her worry of her lover displaying itself ever so slightly on her face.

“Why?”

Morana fumbled, terrified of telling Hector the truth. What would he do if he knew of the possibility of another forgemaster mere miles from him? Would he try to join forces and turn on the sisters? Or would he forge harder, terrified of the prospect of dying alongside the sisters? If he were to turn against Carmilla, he had every reason to do so. Hell, even Morana would have done so if Carmilla had treated her the way she did to him. Considering that Lenore orchestrated his enslavement, she was concerned of Hector’s real sentiments of her. From what she gathered of his character, she was unconvinced that Lenore had any _real_ influence over his actions. Unless Lenore showed any authenticity towards him, which Morana found laughable. Lenore was a politician by heart, by principle she lacked sincerity. He may have some sentiments for Striga, but they had one interaction. If Morana’s nightmares were to come true, he may have only _one_ interaction with her. However, he had no sentiments for Morana, she was a clean slate. Her actions today may influence the course of their relationship forever, she had to do it right.

“Striga is marching into a dangerous territory where a wizard has been terrorizing several neighboring provinces. There have been reports of night creatures roaming in the region- creatures in which I do not believe belongs to the wizard. I have a bad feeling that Striga is in danger, and that she is underestimating the situation.”

Hector was taken aback. _Another forgemaster?_ Was Isaac alive? The prospect of this caused greater concern than relief. Isaac had always hated Hector, had always been condescending of his work. If Isaac had lived, Hector did not want to imagine the rage that was reserved for him betraying Dracula. Logistically though, this was unlikely. Isaac could not have known Hector was in Styria, let alone alive in Carmilla’s castle. The identity of the forgemaster was a question that would be painfully left unanswered.

“Have you talked to Striga about this? What does she think?”

“Striga is stubborn. She doesn’t want to bring any night creatures with her because she doesn’t see a threat, yet my intuition begs otherwise. This is why I came to you, I need you to forge some demons so that I will be able to sleep easier during the day knowing that she is protected.”

“Yes.. Of course.”

Hector responded. A moment of understanding was finally reached between the two. Morana was relieved, she was worried that Hector would not only decline, but also use the information as a form of leverage. She felt the beginning of a bond of trust being formed between her and the forgemaster. She hoped that he felt that same way. The next words from her were to be the most sincere yet.

“Thank you, Hector. I greatly appreciate it.”

And just as quietly as she came, the Tactician disappeared into the crevices of the door, heading towards her next conquest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An entire half night had passed since Morana’s visit to the forge. For the first time in months, Hector felt that he had a genuine conversation between himself and a vampire. He definitely had his reservations about Morana, Lenore spared no details in the sister’s cruel nature. Prior to her visit, he had feared the tactician the most. Striga would kill him quickly, leaving him no time to feel the life leave from his body. Carmilla would do worse, but he was oddly more comfortable with the queen’s beatings and threats of death. Hector smirked, _I guess a month of bitter travel with a vampire will do that to you._ He mused. Lenore, he deduced, would kill him with kindness. She couldn’t bear to see him, or anyone suffer. If Lenore had wanted him dead, she would have probably fed him to sleep and killed him in his bed out of mercy. Despite his reservations about her, he did appreciate this facet of her. She was cold, but not brutal. However, the thought of Morana wanting him dead sent chills down his spine. What would she do if she had truly wanted him dead? Images of fragmented screams and severed limbs flashed through his mind, coupled with her evil smirk as he felt his vitality ripped from him shred to shred. Hector shuddered, nearly choking on the mutton soup he made for his evening dinner.

The door to Hector’s kitchen swung open violently, revealing a tall, well armored guard wielding a menacing steel lance. Behind him stood a smug Carmilla, her arms crossed and her stance authoritative- he wasn’t convinced that she came to join him for dinner. He had just spent the entire day forging, and finally had some time to relax. The hour was late, and his patience was at an incredulous low. He stared at Carmilla with a face of venom, a sense of palpable animosity permeated the house. She was not welcome here.

“What are you doing here?” He glared, sparing no time for formalities.

Carmilla smirked even harder. _What a little shit_ she thought, he had no idea what was coming. If anything, his attitude would make the next few moments that much more enjoyable. She ignored him and made her way into the cabin and towards the kitchen, the guard following. She stood 10 feet from Hector, arms still crossed, shoulders back.

“Did you hear me?!” He challenged, his voice growing like an ember. His previous encounter with the queen had made him confident enough to find his ground against her, the days where she could walk over him were long over.

Carmilla stopped, making cold eye contact with the man. She stood over him like an apex predator, countering his booming voice with her physicality. The tension rose between the two, even the guard began to fear for his own life.

“You…” She pointed to the guard behind her, breaking the silence.

“Beat him until I say so.” She commanded.

Hector froze in shock, his arm grasping the bowl and shoulders slouched over in fear. His confidence dissipated faster than it had rose, his stature reduced to a shell of what it was. A nervous sweat broke out as he became paralyzed by the memories of the journey to Styria. Memories of Carmilla beating him in the alpines and the snow. The external scars were long healed, but the internal ones remained- now resurfacing from the prospect of reliving them once more. The guard charged and began to thrash Hector with the blunt end of his spear, striving to inflict as much short term pain as possible- Carmilla had ordered him to make Hector suffer as much as possible. Hector collapsed and soon became blinded by pain as the spear continue barrage his curled up body. Blood oozed from his nose, and welts began to form underneath the back of his head and underneath his eyes. The steel rod then moved away from his face and began to methodically pound every joint in his body save his arms, for Carmilla knew these were crucial for him to forge. Tears formed in his eyes but he remained silent, he loathed giving her another victory. One of his ribs began to crack and his breaths grew more shallow, his legs grew too weak to support his child’s pose. As Hector’s breath faded to a whimper, the guard knew the possibility of death or permanent damage awaited him if he continued much further, so his swings got slower and more hesitant with each moment. Hector began to fade in and out of consciousness, the pain finally began to subside as his body underwent shock. Once Hector’s arms loosened and his head weakly cocked back, the guard stopped. It was as much as the guard could manage.

Carmilla stood over the desecrated body, glorious of the sight before her. Bruises covered the entirety of the forgemaster, clothes soaked a pool of blood. She had long relished to see Hector suffer since their last showdown in the study room, and couldn’t contain her smile as each successive blow robbed the life from his wretched body. Once his twitching stopped and his body grew lifeless, she picked up a teacup from the kitchen table, and poured herself a cup of his blood from the floor.

“I may not be able to hurt you myself…” She hummed as she sipped his blood from the ceramic cup, her lips stained red. _This blood tastes good…_ She thought as the downed the thick liquid. She almost stooped down to pour herself another cup but thought better of it, she had lunch with Striga after this.

“But I can still make you my bitch.” She declared as she threw the teacup on his body, its shards flying in his hair.

No response, nor any movement from Hector. Carmilla crouched down and felt for a pulse. A faint, flickering pulse was found, much to the relief of the two- especially the guard.

_Good, he learned his lesson_

She laughed maniacally. Without warning, tidal waves of bliss and ecstasy rushed through her as the most intense orgasm rippled through her lean body. She grasped the closest thing to her, the kitchen table, as her legs began to buckle and her vision began to blur. The rush was almost too overwhelming for the queen. If it had lasted a moment longer, she would have cried for the castle medic. After several moments of moaning and grasping the table for dear life, Carmilla finally began to regain lucidity. **_Fuck_** _, that felt good_ she thought.

“What?! I like to beat him!” She glared at the guard, who stared at her with apprehension and concern. Once she felt comfortable to stand on her feet again, she and the finally guard left the house, leaving his mutilated body on the cold floor.

After several minutes, Hector began to regain consciousness. He cried in agony as intense waves of pain rushed through his torso. He tried to stand up but to no avail, his legs had the strength beaten out of them. He grew weaker with each passing moment, realizing that the combined wounds left a series of gashes over his body. His mind was in survival mode. Unless he got up and stopped the bleeding, Lenore would come home to corpse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologize for delaying on this one.  
> The bit between Morana and Hector was supposed to be smaller, but as I kept writing it, the story flowed more and more until it got to be the majority of the chapter.  
> Isaac was supposed to be in this chapter, but I decided that it would be better to include his story in the next one.
> 
> That being said, I already have some of the next chapter written/planned out, so I'm thinking the next chapter will come much sooner than this one.
> 
> After this chapter, I feel apprehensive about giving hard dates, so I will say that the next chapter will come in either the last week of July or the first week of August! So in about 2-3 weeks.
> 
> As always, love to hear your comments.
> 
> Cheers!


	9. Lenore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to touch up more on Lenore's backstory and did a lot of editing with this chapter. This was a segment thats been in the works for a while, but I've been hesitating on how to write it since my own writing style has progressed drastically since I first wrote this.  
> The next chapter will be pretty heavy so I need make sure I can execute it properly, it may be 2 chapters released at the same time, it depends on how the flow of the story is.  
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> As always, appreciate the comment, kudos, and feedback.  
> One more chapter coming this month!
> 
> Cheers!

Isaac’s ears perked as he heard faint cries from the direction of the city. Years of living in the desert, hunting anything from vermin to humans had tuned his ears to become efficient, precise, and deadly. He jerked his head towards the direction of Admont and his heart sank from the views of smoke rising from the rooftops.

_How…??_

His eyes shrunk in horror, his mouth agape from the reality before him.

He thought of Samantha…. Lucy… The onion merchant…

All of them in danger.

For all he knew, the screams could be theirs.

He bolted from the ground and sprinted towards Admont, too rushed to grab any valuables at the grave. His mind was racing in too many directions to care, he had to reach Samantha. He had to make sure she was safe.

As he reached the burning walls of the city he saw legions of night creatures ripping apart the city inside out. Buildings collapsed amongst the ashes as demons small and large stormed the frail houses of the people. Limbs were tossed joyously across the balconies and caught in the mouths of the creatures playfully as their growls were quenched by the taste of flesh. This was only the peripheral view of the city. In the forefront, before his eyes, the outer wall was breached- a crude, gaping hole created by brute force and flame.

_I caused this._

The realization sunk deep within his bones, his strong shoulders shrunk in a vulnerable posture.

He looked somberly towards the center of the city, the church was set in flames- its spires burning painfully against the blood sky.

His deepest fears began to manifest

The damage was irreparable.

Sadness turned to rage and despair as his eyes returned to the immediate foreground, and began to scout the legion of monsters

 _How did they cause this much destruction?!_ He despaired.

There was no time to waste.

Maybe, just maybe, lives could be saved.

Isaac dashed towards the night creatures and started screaming “Stop!” To everyone he came across. His screams grew louder and louder, more aggressive as his frustration skyrocketed. The creatures listened, that was noted. However, the sheer volume of carnage was the equivalent of Isaac quenching a forest fire with a bucket. After a few minutes, his pleas felt as hopeless as the villagers’.

Despite the futility of the situation, Isaac felt compelled to take more drastic measures

He unsheathed his blade, and against his impeccable logic, tore through the lesions of night creatures like butter to a knife.

He saw a demon ripping out the intestines of an unlucky farmer- and proceeded to dismember the demon in cold fury. His rage began to overwhelm his logic as he gutted the night creatures like clockwork.

As he was deep in the rhythm of carnage, a gutting child’s shriek pierced his ears as he noticed that he had brutally dismembered a demon in front of a little girl- her mother lost just moments before Isaac had arrived. The sight was enough to bring his clarity back for a brief moment- enough to remember Samantha and Lucy.

Isaac bolted towards the hut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Lady Lenore, the animal corpse you requested” The guard bowed as he placed the silk bag on the diplomat’s hand. Inside, barely visible to the lady, was a recently deceased gold retriever. The guard had told her it died of natural causes, Lenore urged him to make sure of that. Considering the expediency of the delivery and the lack of wounds the animal had endured, Lenore had her doubts. However, she was above killing guards for suspicions alone. That was Carmilla’s job. Lenore falsely smiled at him and left her room, weaving through the labyrinths of the castle…

“Will you marry me, Lenore?”

She had remembered playing the fantasy through her mind countlessly, the wind tangled against his gold hair, the sunlight reflecting the aqua of his eyes as the tulips bloomed under the oak tree that had stood for centuries in her village.

“Oh, Oliver!”

She hugged him tightly, breathless and blushed. The image of the honeymoon was even grander in her eyes.

Later that night they would go back to their home and cook a marvelous dinner- Seasoned Salmon with Rosemary Potatoes and Garlic, with a half bottle of a deep red- followed by a passionate evening by candlelight. The set up had to be perfect.

Unfortunately for her, that dream would never come.

The real memories flooded back to her

More somber ones.

It was a rainy night at the tavern, she remembered. She had wondered why Oliver, the love of her life, had been so distant with her lately, why he hadn’t been receptive to her kisses and affection. Even Chester, the amber poodle they shared together since he was just a tiny puppy, felt something different. Normally Chester would greet Oliver with a playful bark when he came home from working in the fields. Oliver’s dirt covered face would contrast against his pearly smile as he embraced their little companion- it became part of the every day for her and him. However, within the past week Chester just stayed by her side, giving a worried growl whenever Oliver walked through the door.

 _I did everything I could_ Lenore thought to herself.

 _He’s been spending a lot of time with the neighbor, she’s far prettier than I am_. Lenore knew deep down that wasn’t true. She was the prize jewel of the hamlet. Her father was a self made man from the hamlet, the best of them all. He had spent his entire life building his career for the sole purpose of giving his daughter the life he could not live. All the men fought hard for her hand in marriage, but her father had other plans. Determined to save her from the life he was forced in, he sent her to live in Prague when she was 16, hoping that she would charm a wealthy aristocrat and live his dream of settling in the Golden City. She had the charms to survive in the metropolitan, that was evident. After a year she had even leveraged herself to an affair with a Portuguese Prince, ending awfully after an untimely run in with a past lover and a bottle of cabernet. The soft glow of the city complimented her seductive demeanor- she was a natural.

However, her low birth status had rendered her lofty hopes, and potential, useless. After continuously being taken advantage of, she began to realize that the fairy tales she heard as a child were just that- stories. No matter how charming, agile, witty she was, she could never get past her origins. She had come to painfully realize that despite the sweet words, the love filled nights, and the breathless kisses under the moon- those men had never _really_ intended to be with her. After two loveless years of hollow promises, and the untimely death of her father, she found herself back in the town he had spent so hard trying to get her out of.

Her heart eventually went to Oliver, the humble, but well composed neighbor’s boy who inherited his family’s farm. He was a bit shorter than she would have hoped. His hands were rougher, and he was uneducated in the fine arts. His hair was unruly, and the only thing that offset his complexion was his eyes. Hector’s eyes had almost reminded her of him, but his was of a different nature. Whereas Oliver’s radiated an oceanic serenity, Hector’s showed a bottomless sadness.

He spoke with a simple kindness lacking in the complexity of the nuanced aristocrats she had been so intrigued by. He had no servants, meaning she had to help with the housework. Despite this, she found herself falling madly in love with him.

“What’s a beautiful woman like yourself doing in a place like this?” A dark figure sitting 2 tables across from her asked, its obsidian eyes piercing Lenore with an unusual intensity. Normally she wouldn’t have paid notice, but they were the only ones here, so she felt obligated to reply- a trained behavior from her time in the big city. Lenore felt a visceral sense of fear radiate in her abdomen.

_She felt uneasy_

“My father knows the man who owns this place. I come here when I want to take home a pint of ale for my future husband after a long day’s work” She responded in a manner that may have been polite for a farmer, but curt for a nobleman. She had intended to cut the conversation as soon as possible, and let the man know she had connections to this establishment. Despite the peaceful times, there were still stories of innocent women being snagged by immoral traffickers. If he had any sort of awareness, he would have known that she wasn’t interested.

To Lenore’s fears, the figure ignored her cues.

“Future husband? Has he not proposed?”

She grabbed the cup more briskly, and her stride became more forceful, showcasing her irritability with the stranger. She had tried to be polite to the man, but was not comfortable discussing personal matters with him. She replied in a tone that indicated that the conversation was over- she was practically exiting the tavern at this point.

“I assume he’s thinking of the perfect way of doing it.”

“Oliver doesn’t seem like the type to wait. Do you really think that’s the case?”

Lenore stopped and almost dropped the glass from where she stood, her face was in shock. Not only was the statement inappropriate, but _how the hell did he know Oliver?_

She knew everyone within 20 miles of the Hamlet. Every man, woman, child, relative, even their pets, she had never seen nor heard of this man in her life. 

If Oliver had known him, she would have known too… Unless he was hiding something…

_Who was he?_

Her insecurities began to creep up again. She was almost about to ask the stranger how he knew her homebody soon to be husband, but feared that would open a conversation she was not keen on having. She decided to feign innocent and move on- there was nothing good coming from this. She felt it.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid my husband should be home soon. I must leave.”

The moment those words left her mouth, the stranger stood up and glided towards her in frightening speed. Lenore froze and her knees almost buckled as she was engulfed by his obsidian cloak, she had not realized how tall the stranger was. He towered over her like a gothic castle, his imposing shadow looming over her frail body.

“I apologize, I mean no offense. Please, allow me to pay for your beer. Consider it an apology for a mindless intrusion”

Lenore knew that no wasn’t an answer. The bartender was of no use either, it seemed that the stranger had cast an even greater spell of fear over the middle aged man.

“….Very well… thank you” she quivered

The stranger beckoned her to the bartender and pulled out a large leather bag the size of his head, teaming with gold coins. Lenore’s jaw dropped- that was enough to buy the bar several times over. From her tenure in Prague, she was wise enough to know that not even the most flaunting of nobles carried this much wealth. Her frightened demeanor relaxed as she was mesmerized by the sound of the gold coins ringing against each other. Fear was replaced by awe.

“Interested in how I got this..?”

The stranger asked enticingly, noticing Lenore’s reaction

_Shit, he saw._

Lenore mumbled almost inaudibly to the stranger, her tone feeble and as unconvincing as a child caught red handed.

“No, I don’t like prying into other people’s business.”

The man smiled, his fangs protruding ever so slightly from the thin curvature of his lips. Had Lenore been less preoccupied, she would have noticed them.

“Ah, admirable. But I see you’re curious so I’ll answer. I make my living by making women beautiful….”

Lenore’s flashback abruptly ended as she absentmindedly ran into a wall corner- the bag plopped against the marble floor

_I need to pay more attention_

She murmured to herself as she picked up the bag and walk and resumed her journey to Hector’s lodge…

_What if she had said no?_ She thought to herself countless times. The alternative ate away at her psyche for centuries, the nostalgia of the different life condemning her with many sleepless nights, and a void inside her too large to fill.

She cast a somber smile- this had been the first time she struggled to recall that fateful moment. In the past, she could replay it with horrifying ease, the memory echoed in her head tortuously for several centuries before finally fading in the periphery of her mind. Now, it had faded to distant memory. Come to think of it, she hadn’t remembered thinking of it for a _while_.

How long?

Lenore’s mind flashed back to that woeful moment…

She felt a dark ripple in his spell of seduction. She knew she was treading in dangerous waters, but back then her imagination lacked the capacity to see it.

She remembered the stranger grabbing her neck, his claws sinking deep into her shoulder as she let out a piercing scream. She remembered the feeling of his cold fangs sinking into her pulsing jugular as she felt the life bleed out…

Her vision faded to black, what followed was total consciousness followed by days of searing pain. Paralyzed and unable to respond, she heard the tears of her friends and family during her funeral. She heard Oliver sobbing over her body, cursing at god for taking her away too soon. She had wanted to break out of that coma, scream that she was there. By the time she awoke in her grave, the emotional pain far exceeded any physical pain she had experience in those 3 days.

She wanted to go back to Oliver, to go back home.

The screams of Oliver and the whimpering of Chester still haunt her to this day.

The twisted face…

The self inflicted knife wound...

A single day was all it took for her to lose everything. Her lover was dead, and her village condemned her. It took centuries for her to cope from the pain of losing him.

It took even longer for the shame to become bearable. What never left her was the loss of seeing the sun rise. She had loved to watch the sunrise and hated the night, hated the loneliness that came with it. Now, the sun stood in the sky as a symbol of her mistake- a mockery of all the things she had loved and sacrificed. For what? A shallow promise of beauty aimed to nurture her vanity?

She had lost everything- A sunrise to bask in, a family to love in, and a home to sleep in.

The only thing that remained deep within her was her Christian upbringing- despite the church’s determination to condemn her. She had never believed in suicide, even after turning. Otherwise she would have stayed longer in the sun on the first day she turned, and burned herself to a crisp. She had wished that Vlad hadn’t had told her all the ways she could involuntarily kill herself when he turned her in that tavern. She had wished she could have done it by accident, and was bound by an internal code to avoid those methods.  
Now, she yearned for the day her body would erode to ashes, praying for an end to the eternal loneliness.

In a way, she hoped Carmilla’s plan for domination _was_ a suicide mission.

It would give her a release she had sought for centuries.

To this day, she could never face Vlad Tepesh. Whenever he called for a conference, Carmilla would go as the lone ruler, leaving Lenore a convenient excuse to guard the castle with Morana and Striga.

He probably didn’t even know she was alive, probably didn’t care, she reasoned. Hell, he never even mentioned her name or asked when Carmilla had mentioned her. When Carmilla had told her this the first time, Lenore’s blood boiled with fury. _How could he forget?!_

She didn’t. Even the mentioning of his name sent an array of nightmares that would torture her for weeks, a brutal recap of the time she spent wandering through the cities, then the countryside, as an outcast.

By the time Carmilla found her, she had accepted that humans held no mercy for her, no matter how kind her intentions were. She was to be hated, not for the merit of her actions but by what she was, there was no changing that.

Deep down she harbored a great resentment for this.

All she had wanted was to be loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Isaac reached the hut his heart sank.

Fires engulfed the perimeter and the bodies of familiar faces laid strewn out on the field where he played with the children days ago. Earlier today, it was a green field full of life and tranquility, now it served as a makeshift grave from the manifesto of hell.

Isaac began to frantically scour the bodies, hoping that Samantha and Lucy found a way to escape the slaughter. He had almost purposefully avoided the pile by Samantha’s hut, fearing that he would find two familiar faces amongst the bodies. He reluctantly began to finish his search in the pile strewn right outside Samantha’s hut. His vision began to white out as he noticed a familiar streak of blonde hair on a facedown, tiny corpse.

Isaac collapsed on his knees as his shaking hands fearfully held the little girl, refusing to turn it over and confirm what Isaac knew, deep down.

After a moment of intense nausea, he turned it over.

_Lucy._

Isaac felt an emotional blow to his stomach as he keeled over her, his eyes unintentionally drifting to the dead woman beside Lucy.

_Samantha._

Isaac couldn’t take it anymore. His dinner made his way back up his mouth as he violently puked from the horror. His hands gripped the burned grass as he struggled between losing consciousness and regaining his feet.

Isaac’s mind turned blank, finally processing the carnage before him.

He had done this.

“Master, we have come to rescue you”

The words came abruptly. Its tone cold, yet relieved. Isaac turned around and saw that behind him, a familiar demon had been watching him the entire time.

_The demon philosopher._

Had it been here this whole time?

Did it kill Samantha and Lucy?

Every bone in Isaac’s body had wanted to desecrate the demon. How dare he take the life of such an innocent woman and child?! How can Isaac inflict the same amount of pain on the demon as Isaac had felt from seeing the carnage?

These emotions were quickly redirected back at Isaac. The philosopher did as he was told, it was Isaac who took the lives of these people.

It was Isaac who had given the orders to raze the city.

Isaac stood silently, torn between reaching for his knife or his voice.

“How did you infiltrate the city?” Isaac asked.

His voice was blank, eerily calm. The demon philosopher was taken aback by this, knowing that the only time Isaac used such a tone, the receiving party was dismembered. The demon philosopher was worried, frankly, about the reaction Isaac gave when he saw the bodies of the women. The demon philosopher expected Isaac to be distraught, that was natural. But not _this_ distraught. An emotional Isaac was perhaps the deadliest Isaac; The demon philosopher was caught in a conundrum. He could not lie, but if he told the entire truth- the mission, and Isaac’s salvation, would die with the demon. How could he structure his answer to be as deceitfully truthful as possible?

“We found an alternate path to the city, sir. How should the soldiers dispose the bodies?”

The demon philosopher placed a brilliant diversion. He knew that unless an emotional question would be placed before the forgemaster, Isaac would press him more. By delivering an urgent question that concerned the people Isaac was attached to, it would innocently focus his attention elsewhere.

“Leave them.”

Isaac stated firmly. The demon stood silently- relieved that his gamble had paid off.

“They deserve a proper burial”

The forgemaster stated, the cracks in his voice too subtle for even the demon to notice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lenore had finally reached Hector's cabin, the warm glow of the moon comforted her as her bones chilled from the winds of the past. The night was calm and tranquil, she was oblivious of the sight that awaited her beyond the door.

“Hector, I have something for you..” She murmured as she opened the door to his cabin.

“I remember you saying you liked anim-“

She let out a piercing gasp as she dropped the corpse on the floor.

Shattered glass littered the countertops of a disarrayed kitchen as the floor was covered in a deep pool of blood. An altercation was here, but how? Carmilla couldn’t touch Hector, and Striga and Morana didn’t have the means? Lenore had reinforced the doors with steel locks, so there was no way a soldier could have barged in.

**No time** \- she needed an answer to something else.

Lenore sprinted towards the center and scoured the perimeter for the Forgemaster. She let out a cry when she saw the man slouched over in the far corner of the kitchen leading into the forge. His hands wrapped around and trying to clot what seemed to be a deep gash in his abdomen, his eyes fluttered dully.

His breathing was slow and arduous, his head was slouched over.

“Hector.. Oh my god….”

Lenore cried as she frantically ripped apart the kitchen for a medical kit. She knew she had placed one when she designed the cabin, as she was apprehensive about the safety of his forging. Little did she know, his most severe injuries would come from something else.

_Fuck, that smells good._

The blood on the floor…

Her vision became fuzzy and her knees began to buckle.

She had paused the search and stared at the puddle with a ravenous intensity

_Come to think of it… I am pretty thirsty…_

_I don’t think one drink will be a problem…_

Just as she was about to bend over and take a sip, a powerful voice inside her head boomed with a cold command.

**STOP**

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over her head. The fear of Hector dying took over and she had regained her strength once more. She ran back to Hector and strapped him over her shoulder. It was as if a killer instinct awoke in her as she moved with a mindless efficiency. Her emotions turned off like a switch, her mind calibrated to achieve a singular objective: bring him to safety.

He needed to see the medic **now**.

Lenore blew past the mahogany door of the lodge and raced towards the medical tower as if her own life depended on it.

  
She would ask questions later.


	10. The Curse of the Darkness

Pale embers caressed the burnt blades of grass as Isaac’s solemn frame stood silently before Vytas’s grave, motionless against the dead wind. It was a bleak sunset, the smoke blocked out the warmth of the winter sky, embodying the scene in a greyscale filter amidst the ashes. His arms held the bodies of the two women, surprisingly intact given the fate of the other villagers. He delicately dropped them in front of the faded boulder, almost hesitating to grab them before they hit the ground. They had seemed so fragile; he was worried they would crumble upon impact and disappear with the few memories they had given him. Once they had connected with the ground, all sentiments had vanished as quickly as they had come.

He did not feel pain, nor sorrow, nor anger. No, he felt numb. His mind reverted to a state deprived of complex emotions, and was on a lifeline of primal senses of sight and smell. Not even the screeches of the demons reached his ears, perhaps he had blocked them out? What seemed like hours passed before the forgemaster as he stared stoically at the grave. He had tried to muster an explanation for the carnage, but had fallen into a pit of doubt.

_What if I had come sooner?_

The flames in the periphery grew softer, quenched from a lone rain cloud.

_How could I have missed them?_

The scene seemed quieter, lonelier. The sun had finally set over the horizon, and with it went the last remnants of life. The sky was now a barren blue.

A chill crept up his shins and radiated through his chest before condensing into an impact.

_Why me?_

Isaac collapsed and succumbed to the cascade of pain that reigned upon his broken body. His legs gave out first, buckling under the tremors. His stomach followed, crumpling like a sheet of paper as he fell into the ground. His arms embraced the only person who had stayed with him from the start, himself.

His wall had shattered.

Small tears became torrents of agony as his tunic became drenched, his chest heaving with each successive blow.

A question pierced him deeper and deeper

Why?

_Why?_

**Why?**

Ghosts crept out of the recesses of his suppressed mind and painted the forefront of the conscious. Everyone he had loved and cared for, and everyone who had wronged him, there was no discrimination. Some faces were mere figments of his imagination, others were portraits of the past, far from forgotten.

He could see them clearly now, forming behind his closed eyes.

The first face that formed was a gentle face of a middle-aged woman, slender and graceful. Her obsidian hair waving freely amidst her dark complexion, contrasting the tame nature of her warm eyes. He would have imagined this is what she, his mother would look like. A woman he had never known. A smile he had never seen, and an embrace he had never felt. What would she have said if she had saw him now? Would she had loved him?

The second face was a sterner one. His eyes matched his untamed intensity in Jesus, his hair unkempt from the long nights praying in the parishes. The priest, who had beaten the love out of Isaac after an act of compassion. Isaac wished the priest knew much pain he inflicted on the man. Part of him hoped that he would have stopped if he knew, but a larger part told him otherwise.

The third face was Samantha, a mother who had signed her death note by caring for the forgemaster. A woman with no gain from helping him, no loss from letting him die outside the walls. An irony that despite her kindness and charity, she too would suffer the same fate as the priest. The thought churned Isaac’s stomach.

The final face was the most painful. Lucy, the daughter who would never live to understand why he had try to push her and Samantha away. Too innocent to realize how cruel he was. Self-hatred washed over him in a chilling revelation; he wasn’t any different from the men he had condemned.

The wall crumbled exponentially as he came to a realization: he was never meant to be happy. He had so proudly declared his indifference to the world, choosing the company of flies over men. However, this haunted him, knowing that he would never experience a love that others so freely basked in.

On rare moments such as this, he had wondered what went wrong. What misdeeds had he done in a past life to deserve such a fate? He began with questions, then pleas. Pleas turned to demands, crescendoing into screams of rage. Now, years later, there was silence. What else could match the empty response God had continuously given him?

He was quietly punishing Isaac for the gift of creating life.

A gift he had _never_ asked for.

Perhaps, this was his curse.

The curse of the darkness.

His thoughts became more muddled, and the heaves grew more violent as the rainy night engulfed him in a cold embrace. The forgemaster’s body seized as his vision faded to grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,  
> I wanted to apologize for the long delay in updating this FF- I've had some unexpected twists and turns these past couple of months that have rendered my creativity, and time, null. I had initially planned on posting a 6000+ word chapter continuing Isaac and Hector's story and while I had finished Isaac's story some time ago- I still do not have the ability to complete Hector's at the time being. Due to Isaac's chapter being so short, I felt uncomfortable posting such a brief update. 
> 
> I understand any lack of faith my absence may have generated, and for this I offer my most sincere apology.
> 
> As for Isaac's chapter- its short, but a chapter I am most proud of as a writer, as this was one of the original scenes I had envisioned when I started this FF, and one I wanted to nail right.
> 
> To avoid misleading you guys again, I am not going to give a definitive timeline on when I will finish Hector's part.   
> I can promise that I will continue to tackle it, and release it when I have a product I'm proud to show you. 
> 
> Who knows, maybe posting Isaac's part will alleviate some of the problems i'm having with Hector's part.
> 
> Cheers!


	11. Revival

“Oh dear, he’s waking up”

A soft voice emerged as Hector awakened from what seemed to be a painful nightmare.

He found himself laying in what seemed to be a clean white twin bed, one of many in a large circular room. The walls were a deep burgundy, contrasted by the numerous, triangular dark grey windows that decorated the upper 1/3 of the chamber. Perhaps to block the sunlight while still giving an illusion of light in the castle? The room was reminiscent of a giant egg, and Hector was inside of it. In the center hung a magnificent crystal chandelier, reflecting a brilliant sheen of diamond.

As his vision focused to white, a wave of pain crashed over him like a riptide. His mind only registered a head of curly blonde hair before he turned to his side and violently puked a load of dried blood.

“Oh dear, I guess the medication is wearing off…” The voice said in a concerning tone as graceful sounds of cabinets opening followed. After a brief moment and a temporary relief of pain, Hector felt a pair of cold hands lift him back into his original position as he felt a large pill forced down his throat. Afterwards they made his way to his ribcage and gently massaged his chest, almost as if they were helping the pill make its way to his stomach. The hands were soft- softer than Lenore’s, at least. They reminded him of the satin she used to cover his room.

 _I could get used to this_ he thought affectionately as he pictured himself as a puppy being petted by its owner. His eyes opened wider as he managed to get a good glimpse of his caregiver, and a rush of warmth flowed through his chest and made its way into his stomach. She was beautiful. Her complexion was as smooth as any, her golden hair was elegantly tucked back to avoid it falling over him. Her eyes were a piercing blue, brimming with a fiery core ready to burst from her 5’7 frame. He was mesmerized by the intensity hidden behind her soft exterior.

“Do you know why you’re here?” the woman asked sweetly as she straightened his tunic, a bleach white contrasting against the red backdrop of the ward. Hector gaped at her stupidly as he struggled to muster an answer. It was a rhetorical question- he had no fucking idea. But he couldn’t even answer that. The woman noticed, and giggled before reverting to a more serious tone.

“Lenore found you lying in a pool of your own blood in your home. She told me you suffered a forging accident and one of your demons attacked you. In case you didn’t remember…”

Now the memories began to resurface for Hector…

_“I may not be able to hurt you myself…”_

_“But I can still make you my bitch.”_

Hector didn’t remember the rest, but he didn’t need to, he knew the woman’s explanation was bullshit. Night creatures were loyal to their masters to the end, and even if they weren’t, why would they leave him alive instead of devouring him entirely? Was this vampire doctor intentionally lying to him in hopes that he wouldn’t remember? Or was she truly oblivious to the cruelty of her own queen? The former made more sense, he was sure that she must have treated several victims of Carmilla’s antics. But why lie to him? Surely he had no power to contest against the queen, and he hardly had any loyalty to her. The warmth that glowed in his chest began to temper as his calculating side began to resurface. He may have lacked the energy to contest her story, but he did not lack the will to accept it.

The woman knew he was smarter than that, but there was nothing to be gained from telling the forgemaster the truth. He was on the verge of death when he arrived a mere day ago, and she seriously feared his constitution if she amplified his stress any further. _What a poor child_ she thought sadly as she began to pack up her instruments and turn towards the door. She felt bad about lying to him.

His body throbbed with dull pain as he mustered his first words, catching her as her figure was halfway out the door.

“Who are you?”

The woman smiled tenderly as she turned back. She had secretly hoped that Hector would continue a conversation. She was curious about Hector.

“I am the castle doctor. I’m sure humans have something similar in their cities. Hmmm.. What were they called when before I was turned? I believed they were called healers, or doctors.”

Hector flinched back in surprise

“A doctor? Surely you would have no need for such a profession. Life and Death seems… Finite for your kind.”

“Quite the contrary! It’s hard to explain, really. Just because we don’t share the same physiology as you, doesn’t mean we can’t feel pain or suffering. It’s just… Different. I suppose it’s one of those things where you have to be an undead to understand.”

“If you don’t feel the same physical properties as humans, why bother learning to heal them?”

“Clever question! Believe it or not, we tend to get a lot of humans into this ward. Sometimes Morana goes too far in torturing one, and they need a good recovery to facilitate any sort of negotiation. Sometimes.. We’re just bored. Those sort of things. Plus, the human body is the basis for all of medicine”

Hector’s eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. He was well aware of the Church’s obsession with the human spirit, it was impossible to escape the Catholic’s preaching about the glory of man. However, hearing his species’ significance from a far more advanced one was puzzling, and refreshing. It made sense to him, Vampires were, after all, a variation of humans- albeit a superior one.

“How so?” he enquired

“Well, what are vampires derived from? _Humans._ What are the most complex anatomical animal we have in current times? _Have you seen your circulatory system?_ I assure you it’s not one of your puppies you keep in your cabin”

Hector let out a chuckle, the woman smiled in return

“How do you know I like pets?!”

“He followed you to the ward” The Doctor pointed at a sleeping undead pug and picked him up. The critter awoke, and upon seeing Hector, began wagging its tail furiously as it tried to hop on the bed. Hector laughed again, this time louder. The doctor chuckled warmly as she playfully restrained the undead dog.

“So if human really are the most complex animals, does that mean your kind is simpler?” Hector continued as he reached out to pet the puppy. She pulled the puppy back and put it gently on the floor.

“In a way, yes. Like I mentioned before, we don’t have as complex as a circulatory system, that’s for sure. And to say that the chemicals that run in your body is complex is a massive understatement. However, we do tend to find ourselves somewhat similar when it comes to emotional, and computational intelligence.”

“Is that a result of similar anatomy?”

“Ah.. that we don’t know yet. Sadly, there aren’t many vampire doctors out there. Few have the interest to experiment on our own, or resources to pursue such questions.”

Hector’s mind wandered towards Dracula, and remembered his grief stricken state during the war. Surely, Dracula would have possessed nearly the same emotional processes as humans? How else could he have experienced such sadness for such a long time period? If Dracula was truly different than humans in emotional intelligence, shouldn’t have he been able to put Lisa’s death past him and move on?

“Would you say that vampires can feel things stronger than humans, or is it the opposite?”  
“Feel things..?”

“As in simple emotions such as hate or love. When a vampire professes a certain liking, or disliking, to a human; is it surface level, or is there a layer of depth in their sentiments?”

“Another interesting question…” she smiled at him seductively

“… I would say yes, and no. You see, whereas humans tend to have a singular emotion about a person and many supporting emotions that compliment the singular one, we vampires are able to separate them more seamlessly. For example, let’s just say the queen of Styria wanted to beat you to a bloody pulp. Yes, that’s an act of hatred and aggression, but she is still capable of loving you dearly at the same time. That’s the difference. It seems that with humans, most actions are correlated with a single purpose, without much room for opposing emotions to play a part in it.”

Hector’s mind reverted to Lenore.

_I like you…_

_We can just leave, Hector_

The woman smiled

“You have to understand, Hector- We’re not as easy to read as you can imagine. _But we do feel things._ We aren’t simply creatures with no remorse or a solely killer instinct. Look around you… Look at this castle, and the artwork behind it. Did you see the murals on the windows? Surely this wouldn’t have been possible without _some_ compassion.”

Hector let out a pained sigh as his gaze reverted to the ceiling. His body let out an exhalation of defeat.

“No, I understand.”

The healer took one final look at Hector and turned away, heading towards the corridor. As she was about to exit Hector yelled,

“I forgot to ask for your name.”

She turned around and shone her brilliant blue eyes at him, the chandelier reflecting off her irises like a pair of sapphires.

“Rosaly.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Carmilla sat with Morana and Striga on the castle terrace and were enjoying a modest brunch of virgin’s blood, a small circular table between them. The night was a mild one- the winds had died down entirely, and the snow was thawing from an unusual heat spell. One may even see the subtlest signs of a spring’s bloom, but it was so faint that even Striga had trouble spotting it. Carmilla sat on the side closest to the balcony, she wanted to see the sprawling mountains splayed between patches of evergreen. Morana and Striga sat next to each other on the opposite side of the queen, closest to the door. Whether this was simply a coincidence or a subtle nod to a less than thrilling invite, one cannot be sure. Striga was dozing off as she looked carelessly into the clouds, Morana could tell that she was fully asleep- Striga was beyond any discussion about vampire gossip. Morana stared at Carmilla as intently as she could, doing her best to amuse the queen’s half drunken rambling. Lenore was nowhere to be found.

“By Dracula’s dead body we need to fire the bloodletter!”

Carmilla exclaimed carelessly as her head rested against the rail of the balcony, gazing off into the valleys.

“the blood has been so stale lately… It used to be so simple.. Really. I remember when you could walk into a village and grab the finest maiden, or man and be fed a lovely vintage for a month. Look at us now!“

Carmilla waved her hands into the air as she beckoned towards the cold Styrian Countryside.

“All of the towns are gone! What’s left of the old cities are simply piles of dust, shells of the grandeur they used to be. _That’s why we need this invasion, Morana. I’m telling you_. Once things start looking our way, you’ll be glad that you set your sights farther than this dying land.”

“Yes… Mhmm… Indeed.” Morana nodded as she began to rub her eyebrows with her long fingers. She felt a mild migraine ensue as Carmilla rambled on and on.

 _I swear, If I have to hear Carmilla ramble on for another hour about the quality of blood or the pestering of village people I’m going to walk into the sunlight and burn myself into oblivion_ she thought as Carmilla carried on

“Speaking of which… Striga! When do you leave to oust the wizard?”

Striga perked up the moment her name was announced, like a soldier ready for attention.

“Tomorrow.”

_Did Carmilla really not know when Striga would leave for battle?_

“Excellent! How many soldiers are you bringing with you?”

“Three Hundred. It is difficult to travel with more without being noticed, and I think we need to save the majority of our soldiers for the _real war_.”

“Which we initiate _after_ we get rid of the wizard.” Morana reminded Carmilla

Carmilla yawned as she began to check out of the conversation. She knew that one more misplaced question, and Striga would dominate the conversation with logistics.

“I trust your jurisdiction. That should be enough. Where’s our little sister Lenore? I could have sworn tha-“

BOOM

The 7 foot double doors to the balcony exploded as a figure hurled towards Carmilla with blinding speed.

The drunken queen fell off her chair in a poor attempt to shield herself as Striga reflexively launched towards the assailant, grabbing the attacker’s delicate frame. Morana froze in shock- paralyzed by the heat of the moment.

“YOU BITCH!”

The attacker screamed in a familiar satin tone, the sisters stared at Lenore in a mixture of confusion in horror.

“GET THE HELL OFF ME I AM GOING TO KILL HER!” Lenore shrieked as she attempted to wrestle herself off of the warrior. Striga remained firm as Morana started to regain some of her composure.

After several moments of chaos and broken furniture, Lenore began to tire, and her blows softened.

“What is going on?!” Morana yelled. She knew that when Lenore was upset, it would take nothing less of screaming to get to her head.

“HECTOR IS DYING BECAUSE CARMILLA ATTACKED HIM IN HIS CHAMBERS AND-“ Lenore screamed back as she was overcome by tears. Her swings became even slower and weaker as her sobs intensified. Within moments she was bawling in Striga’s arm as the sister cradled the other. Carmilla had finally regained her posture and stood at the edge of the balcony in an unassuming stance. She grabbed the glass from the floor and carefully twirled her fingers around the rims as she stared into the pit.

 _What the fuck?_ Morana thought. Surely Carmilla wouldn’t let her disdain of the forgemaster compromise the entire plan she set out for the sisters. Carmilla occasionally had bursts of madness, but rarely has it ever put the future of the quartet in question.

_Is she out of her fucking mind?_

“Carmilla, is this true?” Morana asked quietly as she stared coldly into the queen. Striga flinched at the question as she pushed Lenore further away from Carmilla and Morana.

She knew what was coming.

A moment of deadly silence ensued, only to be broke by Carmilla’s defensive tone.

“Oh god, what could I do, Morana?! He disrespected me in front of the guards and I had to show him-“

BOOM

Morana’s hand struck Carmilla’s face so swiftly and powerfully one could have mistaken it for a lightning strike. Carmilla nearly flew off the balcony as her hands wrapped around her face. She shrieked in a helpless pain as Lenore and Striga stood in shock- Morana rarely displayed such outbursts. The tactician glared at Carmilla like a parent would to a punished child- with scorn and discontent. Carmilla was not allowed to get back up, not without her permission.

Carmilla stayed on the ground and silently pleaded mercy from Morana- her body as still as stone. A delicate play of power ensued, culminating in a icy gridlock. There was no coming back from the queen as she stood helpless on the floor, at the mercy of a crueler force of feminine power.

A moment of silent eternity ensued, and after a break in the silence by the gust of an icy wind,

Morana stormed out of the room in a silent fury. Carmilla laid on the floor paralyzed, her hands now fully rested on the cold floor as opposed to her struck face. Lenore had stopped crying and almost felt a pang of pity for her sister until the sight of Hector’s broken body resurfaced in her mind. Her expression of mild sympathy quickly turned to stony anger, relishing in the judgement that Morana had just dealt to the queen. Behind Striga’s lifeless gaze was an ever so slight expression of fear. She had rarely seen her lover act so rashly. Carmilla abruptly rose from the floor and ran back into the castle as she buried her face in her hands.

 _Go tend to Hector and see whether he’s recovered, and I’ll take care of Morana_ Lenore knew her sister well enough to know this is what Striga meant when the warrior furrowed her eyes at her and walked back into the castle towards the left wing- hers and Morana’s room. Lenore took a moment to allow the moment to finally register, then made her way back towards the castle medic. She needed someone or something to take her mind off the cascade of emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a hiatus it has been.  
> I wanted to thank everyone who still reads this FF and holds out hope for another chapter update. I frequently stop and try to find time to write but certain life factors frequently hamper my ability to do so. One big one I have been struggling with Hector's arc is writers block, with the added anxiety of getting a chapter perfectly down. However, I've been recently learning to work through that, and develop as a writer.  
> I do not ever intend to drop off AO3 and abandon this FF unless I explicitly mention it, so there is no worry of reading a forever uncompleted Fic.  
> Thank you all for being so patient, understanding, and supportive of this work. A big reason why I write is for you all, and for that alone, this gives me great joy to craft.  
> As always, let me know your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank your for your time in reading this! I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> Feel free to comment!


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